


Ludus Lupus

by DarkFairytale



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spartacus (TV) Fusion, Blackmail, Blood and Gore, Branding, Canonical Character Death, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Forced Prostitution, Gladiators, Humiliation, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Manipulation, Physical Abuse, Public Humiliation, Public Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slave Derek, Slave Stiles Stilinski, Slavery, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Violence, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-13 23:03:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 207,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7989418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkFairytale/pseuds/DarkFairytale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Scott is bitten by a rogue Were, he can no longer be a house slave to Chris Argent's family. He is sent away to train with the Gladiators of the famous Lupus Ludus, owned by Kate Argent. Determined not to let his friend suffer alone, Stiles offers to go with him, and serve in the house of Kate Argent.</p><p>Not only will Stiles have to contend with his worry for Scott and the cruelty of his new Domina, but things become even more complicated when Stiles finds himself falling for Kate's prize Gladiator; Derek Hale, the Undefeated Alpha.</p><p>Based on Spartacus (TV Series).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I wrote the first few chapters of this fic about two years ago. I recently discovered the document lurking on my computer, and on reading it back, I thought it wasn't too bad. I thought I would post it in case anybody was interested in reading! I assume Spartacus AU must be quite popular for Teen Wolf fanfic, but I have never read one, so if any similarities exist between this fic and any other, it is entirely coincidental. 
> 
> The supernatural lore in this fic diverges somewhat from the canon of the show, in order to work with the plot. For example, blue Beta eyes are a rare physical trait, rather than something that is caused. Other Supernatural creatures' powers are also slightly different.
> 
> This is not beta read, so all mistakes are mine. Please let me know if there are any glaring typos/faults and I will edit them. I do not give permission for this fic to be shared with any of the Teen Wolf cast. This fic is about the characters, not the actors who play them.
> 
> More characters/warnings/tags/pairings will be added as new chapters are added. If you think that a warning needs adding at any point, please do not hesitate to contact me! And I hope you enjoy!

It had been a full moon that night. And whilst that should have been enough of a warning to be careful to keep an eye out for a rogue Were, it was so rare an occurrence to encounter one that they had never seen it coming. Stiles didn’t even see it happen. Stiles hadn’t even been there when it happened.

He had heard the scream, though. He had run back to where he had left Scott with the horses and had found his best friend lying on the dirty cobbles of the street, pale, bloodstained and wide-eyed with shock.  The Were had disappeared, but the mark it left behind did not.

They had not seen it coming. But now they had to deal with the aftermath.

Scott’s future had just become incredibly uncertain, because the bite of a Were was, ultimately, a death sentence. They were dealing with an aftermath that would be unbelievably cruel and fatal to Scott whichever way it took him.

It wasn’t fair.

But then, life was not fair to Weres, and if Scott survived the bite, it was a Were he would become.

Two days passed, and it became clear that Scott was not going to die from the bite. He was going to be transformed by it.

“I will not have one of those creatures in my house.”

The voice that spoke was shrill, cold and uncompromising. Stiles heard it through the closed door, where he was purposefully eavesdropping in the corridor outside. He would be punished for such an act if he was caught, but he did not care. This was Scott’s future on the line. And if Victoria Argent had it her way, it would undoubtedly be bleak. Not that they could question her authority, though. She was the Mistress of the house, the wife of Lord Christopher Argent; the owner of Stiles, Scott and Scott’s mother Melissa, who was currently attempting to plead for the future of her son.

“Please Master, Mistress,” Stiles heard Melissa say, her voice wavering, but bold and determined, “Please do not send Scott away, he has served you his entire life, he would never do a thing to harm a soul in this household. I beg of you.”

Stiles closed his eyes and pressed himself against the wall beside the door. Scott was currently locked in the stables, in which he had tended to the Argent’s horses for the majority of his sixteen years – his lifetime – of servitude to the family. Scott was locked in there because he was now considered a threat; a wild animal with no control.

“I am sorry Melissa,” Chris Argent said, “But if my father was to find out that I was keeping a Were as a house slave he would be furious. The reputation of my family; my father’s political stance concerning Weres; Kate’s Ludus…it would all be thrown into disrepute. There is nothing I can do.”

Stiles bit his lip hard, his heart dropping. Of his Masters, Chris was the better hope for Scott of the two, because he was fairer and more sympathetic than his wife, who was stony and strict at the best of times. Stiles wished his Masters had allowed Allison to fight Scott’s corner, or at least have a say or sway in the decisions that were to be made, but she had been sent to her rooms and ordered not to leave them.

Despite being the only child of the Argents and technically another Mistress of the house, Stiles considered Allison a friend. She was beautiful and kind, and did not treat slaves as inferior creatures or pets to do her bidding. She refused to have a slave of her own, stating she could take care of herself, but when occasion called to it, such as when her grandfather or aunt were visiting, she reluctantly picked out a slave to serve her. Due to her fondness for Stiles, she often chose him. However, as fond as she was of Stiles, the clear favourite of Allison’s was Scott. Whilst Stiles had been a slave of the Argent’s for five years, Scott had been Argent property since birth; his mother a slave already and his father a solider in the army who had made promises and broken them. Scott and Allison had grown up together, and they adored each other. It made Stiles happy when he saw them together, but, as they grew older, it was also hard to comprehend that it could never be anything more than an unconventional friendship. Scott was besotted with Allison, and Stiles knew that his friend would never love anybody else like he did her. It was obvious to Stiles that Allison loved Scott in return, but she kept her feelings and any budding romance they shared hidden from her parents, knowing that Scott would be punished should the truth ever be discovered. It was a closeness that could not be entirely secret, however, and the moment she demanded to help treat Scott of the bite, she had been banned from seeing him and confined to her rooms. Stiles had been allowed to see her at mealtimes, when he delivered her food. Each time he had found her in tears, furious at her parents for keeping her away, and asking Stiles how Scott was faring.

Stiles jerked back to the conversation he was overhearing when Melissa began sobbing. His heart tightened and his eyes brimmed with tears at the sound of it.

“But Master, he is so young," Melissa begged, "I don’t…he has his whole life ahead of him. Where will you send him? What will happen to my son?”

“He cannot stay here, but will not go the mines. I promise you that,” Chris said firmly. “However, I cannot think of a house that would readily take him in as a house slave.”

The Supernatural were deemed an inferior race to humans, but the werewolves were considered the lowest of the low. Some Weres managed to keep their identities hidden, but if they were discovered and captured alive, there were three paths their lives could take. The first was to be sent to work in the mines, a treacherous task shared by both Were and human slaves, that gave nothing but misery, backbreaking labour and a guaranteed shorter lifespan. The second was that female Weres could be bought for house slaves, but this was rare, as humans were preferred. It was virtually unheard of to keep a male Were as a house slave, so Scott would not be able to be one any longer. But, if Chris was saving Scott from the mines, and Scott could not remain a house slave, that only left the third option. Melissa came to the conclusion at the same time as Stiles’ stomach plummeted with the realisation.

 “A gladiator?!” Melissa gasped, her voice choked and catching in her throat. “But Master! Scott wouldn’t stand a chance in an arena! Not against some of those wolves! He would…oh gods…he would be ripped apart…”

Tears stung Stiles’ eyes and he dropped his head in to his hands. Surely the Argents could not be so cruel? It would mean a certain death for Scott, surely they could see that? Scott could never be a gladiator. Scott, with his dark curls and big brown eyes, his wide and wonderful smile, his heart of gold. Scott had never hurt a soul. He didn’t have it in him. He would not be able to fight. To maim. To kill. All for the miniscule chance of gaining glory and reputation, and …

Stiles remembered the few gladiator fights he had seen when he was a child. He could not wipe them from his memory. His parents had despised the popular form of entertainment, and avoided them at all costs. But Stiles’ father had been a Sherriff, and he and his family had sometimes been invited as second-class guests by richer men who wanted to show off their power. On those occasions it would have been social suicide to refuse, particularly as his mother had been a seamstress for many high ranking families, including the Argents.

Stiles remembered the first fight he had watched. He had been seven years old.

“Don’t watch, baby,” His mother had told him, hiding his face in her shoulder. “It’s not for your eyes.”

But he had peeked. Because Stiles had always done what he had been told not to do. He had regretted it immediately, because he had witnessed how one Were had slashed down on another with its claws, their faces transformed; hairy, fanged, their eyes a startling shade of yellow-amber. The Were then impaled the other on his sword, and drew it up so that the victim’s innards spilled out and stained the sands. The wounded Were had died in wolf-form. Stiles hadn’t slept properly for weeks. That fight, and the few Stiles had seen since, were still branded, unwanted, in his memory.

Stiles tried to imagine what Scott’s wolf-face might look like, but that led to the image of Scott dying, ripped to shreds and scattered to the sand, dying with his yellow-eyes and fanged-mouth open.

Stiles shuddered and slid further down the wall, until he was sitting, covering his face with his hands and pressing them into his knees.

“A couple of Weres have previously worked in Kate’s Ludus in a staff capacity for the Gladiators,” Chris was saying. “They don’t fight, they serve. It stands them lower in status than the fighters, but they do not see battle. As Scott has been in service to our family for his sixteen years, I do not see how Kate could refuse him that leniency. She has met you and Scott on numerous occasions. I will look into it.”

“Thank you, thank you Master…”

Stiles echoed Melissa’s thanks in his head. That had to be something. Maybe Scott did have a chance.

“However,” Victoria added. “You should not underestimate the strength of a slighter Were, Melissa. Some of them possess more power than the largest of Weres. We will not know what Scott is capable of until he changes for the first time. And we are certainly not equipped to deal with his first change here. He needs to be taught how to control it. The best way to do that is for him to train at the Ludus.”

“But do you mean to say…” Melissa blurted. There was a pause. Melissa had interrupted her Mistress, which was out of character for the woman Stiles saw as a second mother. “My apologies Mistress, I did not mean to…”

“You are concerned for your child, Melissa. This once, we will give you leniency on what you wish to say.”

“Thank you. I just wanted to make sure that I understand. For Scott, if he changes…”

“ _When_ he changes. I am sorry Melissa. But the bite is there and it is a matter of time.”

Stiles clenched his fists at Victoria’s bluntness. His nails dug into his palms, but the pain didn’t do anything to stop the ache in his chest or the fearful thumping of his heart.

“When he changes,” Melissa corrected, her voice devastated and broken. “The Argent Ludus will be the best place for him to learn how to control the shift. But there is a chance that it will be decided that he is strong enough to train as Gladiator. And if he fails the training, he’ll be sent to the mines?”

“Not to the mines,” Chris insisted again. “I will make sure Kate knows the score.”

There was, in the silence that followed, the unspoken knowledge that in any scenario, Scott’s life would never be the same, and it would probably end early and painfully.

Stiles had met Gerard and Kate Argent on several occasions. Gerard was intimidating and unforgiving; a businessman and politician, grasping and eager for power. He did not speak to the servants, and, it was said that in his younger days, he had the tongues cut out of his slaves so they could not speak to him. Therefore, absolute silence was maintained by the slaves that shared a room with him. Stiles had never made eye contact with the man. Gerard had run his Argent _Lupus Ludus_ for decades, but in the last five years, that control had been passed to his daughter Kate whilst Gerard worked on strengthening his political power. Chris had been offered the role, but had firmly rejected the offer. Kate had been more than eager to take over the mantle of Domina of the Ludus.

Kate was beautiful yet terrifying. She enjoyed the power that owning slaves and Gladiators brought her. Unlike her father, she did not seek political influence, only bigger and better reputation in the arena with her infamous Gladiators, known as _The Wolves_. She was also very interested in her position in society, often hosting parties in order to show off her wealth, power and servants. She was also unlike her father in the way that she took an odd interest in her servants and Gladiators. She liked to know the lives and business of all who worked for the Argent family, to better relish the power she had over them. Stiles knew this only from what he had been told or observed from her visits, where on more than one occasion Stiles had noticed Kate’s eyes tracking him.

“This one is new,” She had commented on their first encounter. Stiles had avoided her piercing stare.

“He is,” Chris had said.

“Where did you come from?”

Stiles had started at the question, which had appeared to be directed at him, but Gerard had been in the room so he had held his tongue.

“He is from…” Chris had started.

“Not you, Christopher, I am asking the boy.”

“Kate,” Gerard had snapped warningly.

“What?” Kate had asked innocently, her gaze returning to Stiles. “You, boy.”

Stiles had bitten the inside of his cheek in order to remind himself that he could not react with a sarcastic retort. He was often reprimanded for growing annoyed and speaking out of turn to Chris and Victoria, who were overly lenient with him. “Mistress,” Stiles had managed to acknowledge, with a nervous tilt of his head.

Kate had hummed in approval. “He is adorable. Tell me boy, where are you from?”

“This city, Mistress.”

“Interesting. And your parents?”

Stiles’ breath had caught in his throat. “Dead, Mistress.”

“The boy’s mother, Claudia Stilinski, was one of our favoured seamstresses,” Chris had informed his sister. “Do you remember her?”

“I do.” Kate had nodded, eyeing Stiles with renewed interest. “And I remember his father, John, all too well.”

“When his father died, I felt a duty to save the boy from the poorhouse and the orphanage. I gave him a future here, out of respect to his father.”

“You have done the boy much by allowing him here, Christopher. He should be thankful,” Gerard had dismissed.

They had not spoken to Stiles again, though he knew Kate had watched him once or twice on subsequent visits.

Kate was poisonous. Everyone knew it. And Stiles would be damned if Scott was going to end up in her possession.

He scrambled to his feet and left the corridor where he had been listening in on the debate of Scott’s future and ran down to the stables.

Stiles wrenched open the stable door to find Scott curled up on his side in the hay. His friend’s normally tan skin was paled with the dissipating fever sparked by the teeth marks that had been punched into his side.

“Scott,” Stiles breathed. He rushed to his friend and ran a quaking hand over his forehead. “Are you ok?”

Scott flinched at Stiles’ voice, still unaccustomed to the enhanced assault on his senses that the Werewolf powers gave him. “Better now you are here.” Scott sent him a weak smile. “Where’s Mum?”

“With Chris and Victoria,” Stiles kept his voice as hushed as possible, to save Scott’s ears the noise.

Scott, however, was concerned with different matters, apparently picking up on Stiles’ distress, because he lifted his head slightly from the hay and looked at him sadly, “They are deciding what to do with me, aren’t they?”

“They should not get to make that decision,” Stiles said, taking Scott’s hand. “Come on, on your feet.”

“Where are we going?”

“I’m not going anywhere. You though…you are leaving.”

“Leaving? Are they sending me…”

“Nowhere if I can help it. You are going to run, so they cannot take you.”

“Stiles,” Scott said as Stiles attempted to pull him to the open door. “Stiles!” Scott dug his heels in and forced Stiles to turn back to him. Scott looked heart-wrenchingly sad and resigned, “Stiles, where would I go?”

“Anywhere but the mines, or in the Ludus of Kate Argent.”

“If they caught me, I’d be killed for what I am.”

“You haven’t even changed yet.”

“To them I have. I’m a Were now Stiles. It’s not so easy to run. Hells, it’s not even possible for a human slave to run. You should know.”

Stiles had tried it once in his early days as a slave. Once.

“But…”

“There is nothing I can do, Stiles. Nothing.” Scott fell, defeated, to his knees. “I have never lived anywhere but here. They are going to make me leave Mum and Allison and you,” His voice trailed to a whisper. “I’m scared.”

Stiles dropped to the hay as well and wrapped his arms around Scott’s trembling shoulders, a decision suddenly made in his mind, “You are not going through this alone. I promise.”

***

“Oh Chris,” Kate gushed. “A new Were _and_ a house slave? You do spoil me.”

 “You receive them at a price, Kate,” Chris warned, watching as his sister began to circle the two teenage slaves standing before her, like a cat with new playthings. “You know that Scott has served in my house since he was old enough to, and I do not want him put in any unnecessary danger, do you hear me?”

“Yes, yes.” Kate waved him off. “I understand.” She stopped in front of Scott. “When was he bitten?” She asked, grasping his chin and turning his head this way and that.

“Three days ago.”

“A pretty boy. It is a pity that the wolf has taken him.” She clucked her tongue mournfully. Kate, for all that she promoted her Gladiators and, as Chris suspected, often enjoyed them, she hated the ‘curse’ more than him, and more than anyone he had ever known. She loved yet despised their power, their strength and their physical beauty.

“I give him to you in the confidence that Scott is not made to do any task that is not specifically agreed between us,” Chris stated firmly.

Kate’s glare hit him with full force, daring him to challenge her and the treatment of her slaves out loud.

“Agreed.” She circled Scott again, and seemingly pleased with him, met Chris’ eye again. “He will train to control the change in the Ludus. Should his first change prove a success and he displays promise I will make him a Gladiator, if not, I will find work for him in the Ludus elsewhere, as agreed.”

Chris gritted his teeth and nodded. Allison and Melissa had been outraged at the idea that Scott could very well be made a Gladiator, but they were Kate’s terms and they were fixed. Without Kate, it would be harder to control what would happen to Scott and where he could end up.

“And you bring me an extra gift.” She stopped before the second boy. “How lovely.” She caught the boy’s eyes and held on with a smile. “What have I done to earn young Stiles?”

Chris had not intended to give Stiles away as well. It had not been his intention to lose two house slaves on the same day. No, that had all been Stiles’ idea, and wasn’t that a kick in the teeth? That his decision had been made for him by a slave?

Stiles had asked for private audience with Chris on the night that the decision was made to move Scott to Kate’s Ludus. That had been bold of the boy from the first, but then he had proceeded to demand that if Scott had to go away, then Stiles would go with him. Chris had argued, and although he was loath to admit it and Stiles would believe otherwise, Chris argued against it in Stiles’ best interests. Scott, before his unfortunate incident with the Were, had ultimately been a very satisfactory slave; meek, kind, possibly a little too close with Allison for comfort, but his heart was in the right place, and he knew that that place was of a lower station. Stiles, on the other hand, had been a drain on Chris’ nerves during the five years that he had been a slave to the Argents. Stiles had not initially believed Chris’ action of taking him in as a slave after the deaths of his parents to have been a saving grace, and had tried to run. He had been disobedient, and despite being significantly better behaved now, he was still the most disobedient of Chris’ house slaves. He had moments of outspokenness and was prone to fidgeting and quickly growing restless, which was a quality not appreciated in house slaves that were meant to blend in with the furniture. Kate would despise a slave that could not control his tongue or his shuffling feet. Stiles could do neither. He had proved it as he and Chris had argued. Chris had gotten so far as to raising an angry hand to the boy, but the back of his hand had paused a second before it had made contact with Stiles’ face. Stiles had flinched, but his eyes had remained defiant. Chris had sighed, and told Stiles that he had no idea what he was getting himself into by choosing to go to Kate, rather than staying with Chris. Kate was not as tolerant as Chris, and Stiles required a lot of tolerance.

“Stiles will serve in the house as long as Scott is with you,” Chris said, and then gave his sister a hard, uncompromising stare as he laid down the terms; “I have ordered Stiles to report back to me on any misgiving. He will support Scott through his change, and will be allowed visiting rights to see him. I also have the right to take Stiles back at any time.”

Kate frowned, clearly unimpressed with demands being made and the fact that slaves would be reporting back to Chris on her behaviour. He knew she would despise that, but it was his condition, because he found himself feeling responsible for the boys that had been in his care.

“This is most unusual, Chris,” Kate said. There was annoyance in her tone, but then her face lit up with unveiled curiosity, “Not that I’m complaining…but why not Melissa?”

“Victoria will not part with her. But Melissa will have visiting rights dependent on our arranging of them. Stiles offered to come with Scott so he is not alone in a new household. This has all been a rather overwhelming couple of days, you understand.”

“Indeed.” Kate made her inspection of Stiles, before her eyes slid to Scott. “Did they catch the wolf that bit him?”

“No.”

“Pity. It would have been nice to see it ripped apart for all it has done.”

“As you say,” Chris agreed. At least he and his sister agreed in that regard. “So, both boys are welcome with you?”

“Of course. They will fit in splendidly.”

“Allison, Melissa and myself will arrange occasions in which we will come and visit the boys.”

“Yes, yes,” His sister was beginning to sound bored, which was his cue to leave. He had laid down his terms as firmly as he could. It just remained to be seen if his sister kept to her word.

Chris cleared his throat, “Then I had best be going.” He nodded to his former slaves in acknowledgement, “Scott. Stiles.” He turned to go, determined not to look back at the boys who had served for sixteen years, and five years, within his home.

“Goodbye Master,” Scott’s quiet and anguish-filled voice followed him to the door.

Chris clenched his teeth at the sound of Scott’s voice, guilt weighing heavy on his shoulders. Stiles did not say anything. Chris could feel those amber eyes burning holes into his back. The boy was still angry that Chris was sending Scott away at all. But there was no more that Chris could do for Scott, and it had been Stiles’ choice to go with his friend. Despite Chris’ freedom to take Stiles back if he wished, Stiles was, for the meantime at least, not his responsibility anymore. And that meant that Stiles would have to control his mouth, because Kate would not be anywhere near as lenient to a boy with a fiery tongue. She’d more likely have the damn thing cut out. Stiles seemed undeterred despite all of Chris’ warnings. Chris supposed he would have to learn.

“Chris.” His sister came after him and stopped him at the door, out of earshot of the boys, who remained standing in the centre of the room. “If Scott does prove to be a powerful Were I will want to make him a Gladiator. And if Scott becomes a Gladiator, there is a chance he will be dead within the next year or two. I hope you are aware of that. I do not want the blame for his demise. In fact I am giving him the best chance of life and the chance for a glorious death. Or, if he proves a successful warrior, as my _Wolves_ are trained to be, he could eventually earn the money to buy his freedom.” Kate did not sound like she believed much in the latter. Scott did not really fit the physique or ruthlessness of a champion Gladiator.

“We will discuss what to do with Scott once he has survived his first change. He may not prove strong enough to fight on the sands.”

“And if he does?”

“We will make that decision at that time. And we will make it together,” Chris made his tone final, but as he turned to leave again, and leave the conversation behind as well, Kate grabbed his forearm and stopped him again.

“And as for the way that I choose to train and handle my slaves and Gladiators…you know my methods. I do not want my generosity mistaken for unfair treatment. Is that understood?”

“Loud and clear.”

***

After Chris had left the villa, Stiles watched apprehensively as Kate approached them again. She had her hair pulled back and elaborately adorned, and was wearing a dress of shades of deep blue. She looked beautiful, but the eyes of the woman betrayed the poison in her veins.

She stopped before them. Her face was no longer so full of pitying smiles, but the hard demeanour of a Domina.

“Now that Lord Argent is gone we can get down to business,” She said. Even her voice was harder now. “This is not Lord Argent’s home, so you no longer follow Lord Argent’s rules. This is the _Lupus Ludus_ of House Argent, and I expect far more of my slaves than Lord Argent does with his lax discipline and soft severity. I will expect you to follow my rules, obey them to the letter, and not to question them. I am your Master now, and I therefore have your allegiance. I am your Domina and you will refer to me as such. Is that understood?”

“Yes Domina,” Stiles and Scott spoke in unison. Scott’s voice hitched in his words, and Stiles barely controlled the wobble that threatened to derail his.

Kate sniffed, seemingly approving of their response. “The first task I would have of you is that you be shaved of most hair. Any new slave that enters my house has their hair cut, so that I can see them for who they are, and so that they understand that they are my property; mine to control, now, as is my right. Should I wish you to grow any of it out again, I will allow it in time.”

She watched their faces closely, assumedly gaging what reactions she could find there. Stiles did not know what she would find in his face, probably dumb shock, with the knowledge that he now belonged to Kate Argent; a woman who liked to prove her power in her control over other human beings . That was not a person that was decent, or kind, and Stiles did not want Scott in her hands. _He_ did not want to be in her hands.

Kate carried on, seemingly oblivious to the inner-panic brewing within her new slaves, “Following that, Scott will go down to the Ludus to meet his new brothers. Because, Stiles, you are no longer Scott’s brother.”

Stiles could not hold back the frown that began to creep onto his face.

“You may have visiting rights,” Kate said, verging on petty as she repeated one of her brother’s demands, “Which I will allow out of respect of my brother’s wishes. But as far as this Ludus is concerned, the _Wolves_ are each other’s family; brothers and sisters forged on the sands. Do you understand?”

Stiles was stunned to silence. Scott didn’t say anything either. Stiles felt Scott’s hand twitch so that it knocked against his own.

When no reply came, Kate shot forwards and Stiles’ found his chin harshly grasped in one hand, and Scott’s was gripped in the other. “I said. Do. You. Understand?”

Her fingernails were sharp and dug into his skin. “Yes, Domina,” Stiles forced out. Scott doing likewise.

“Stiles, I was pleased to hear how you were so willing to enter my service. Your duties here will be to help in the kitchens but also to attend me when I require it.” She physically turned his head to the far wall, where three slaves stood silent, staring blankly ahead. They had been so quiet, Stiles had forgotten they were there. “Those are a few of your new fellows. Lydia will show you how things are done here.”

Stiles let his eyes wander over the female of the three slaves. Lydia was stunning; red hair, pale skin and full lips, petite in her plain woollen tunic. The two male slaves wore simplistic linen garments that were only a little more extensive than loincloths and linen shirts that were left open and bared the majority of their chests. One of the men was tanned with black hair, the other paler, leaner and brunette. All three slaves had golden collars encircling their necks. It was clear that Kate did not dress her slaves for modesty and had chosen them for their looks.

Kate must have caught on to his chain of thought. “You are both such pretty boys. You will fit in well here.” She released their faces, but not before trailing the backs of her fingers down their cheeks; a display of her new dominance over them which gave Stiles a sick feeling in his stomach. “Stiles you will go with Lydia and then report back to me. Scott, go with Danny and Matt. They will then send you to the Doctor for physical examination. Say your goodbyes.”

Stiles turned to Scott and, without a care for his new Domina, pulled him into a hug. Scott buried his face in Stiles’ shoulder.

“You didn’t have to come here,” Scott murmured into his shoulder. “You could have stayed.”

“I’m not leaving you. Not now, not ever,” Stiles promised, running a hand through Scott’s locks, knowing that they were going to be gone the next time he saw him. “Just be brave. Ok? Don’t be too soft.”

“That is enough,” Kate ordered.

“And you be careful,” Scott whispered, “I love you.” He squeezed Stiles tightly, which, with his new untested strength, left Stiles wheezing.

“I love you more buddy.” Stiles knocked his temple gently against Scott’s before pressing a kiss there. He then let go.

Kate turned on her heel, apparently bored with the show, and Stiles reluctantly watched Scott turn and follow the two male servants – Danny and Matt – through a door at the far end of the room.

“Come with me,” Lydia ordered to Stiles, turning them in the opposite direction.

“Coming.” Stiles put on a smile and followed her. If one thing was going to cheer him up about this day, it would be meeting the young woman beside him. “Nice to meet you Lydia, I…”

“You are foolish,” Lydia interrupted sharply.

Stiles’ mouth hung open. “You know what? I take back the ‘nice to meet you’.”

“I was in that room, I heard the conversation.” She rounded on him. “You _chose_ to come here rather than stay with Chris Argent? Are you insane?”

Stiles had always used humour and sarcasm as a shield, and seeing as Kate’s introduction had already left him rattled, his defences flew up pretty fast. “Yes I believe I am. What of it?”

Lydia narrowed her eyes at him like she really thought he was crazy. “Jokes won’t save you. And you won’t save that friend of yours. He is a Were. The only future for him is the sands and an earlier grave than most. You should have accepted that and stayed where you were.”

Stiles brushed aside the blunt opinion on Scott’s fate, because what else was he meant to do? “Is Kate really that bad?” He glanced at Lydia. He would have been lying if he said he wasn’t even more worried now than he had been. He had heard of Kate’s reputation, but he had never really been at the receiving end of it before, until now.

Lydia glanced around her, as though worried the walls would hear her. “You must refer to her as 'Domina'. And if you keep on her good side, you’ll be ok. But you would have been better where you were."

“Well, I’m suitably nervous. Thanks for that.”

Lydia huffed loudly and rolled her eyes. “Idiot,” she grumbled.

“It’s been a joy spending time with you already,” Stiles deadpanned, “What a merry life we are going to lead.” He spotted the corner of her mouth quirk upwards slightly, but only for a second.

“You won’t be saying that after we’ve shaved you,” She retorted airily.

“Yes, about that,” Stiles swallowed. “When Ka...the Domina...says most hair she means…”

“Head, leg, body and underarm hair.”

“Oh gods. Is my treasured region safe?”

“Treasured region?” Lydia raised an unamused eyebrow. “We won’t be shaving that.”

“‘We’?”

“Me and Kira.”

“Oh gods.”

***

Stiles ran a wobbly hand over his close-shaved hair, eyeing himself in a mirror. “It’s never been short like this.” For all his joking and light-hearted quips, he was afraid. His original appearance had already been taken from him. It made him fear what else Kate could take from him.

“She may decide she likes you hairier and this will be the only time,” Lydia said, her berating had toned down to soft reassurance from the moment the collection of hair in his lap had finally grown stifling to Stiles and it had all hit him like a tidal wave. Lydia had caught the tear that had rolled down his cheek. “You know, I should have said to you before…yes, I think you are foolish beyond reason, but what you have done for your friend is brave. Foolishly brave, but brave.”

“You know, I might wrong,” Stiles shot her a watery smile, “But I think you might consider me foolish.”

She smiled back. It was bright and sunny and it made Stiles feel a little better. “You must care about him a great deal.”

“I do. He’s my best friend. My brother, no matter what the Domina says. I had to come here with him. I couldn’t leave him alone.”

“It is strange; I would not have understood your dedication to another person a year ago, but just recently…”

“Lydia,” Kira’s voice interrupted her from the door. “The Domina requests Stiles’ presence the moment he is ready.”

Lydia, apparently fine to leave their conversation exactly where they had left it and probably feeling that she had revealed too much, walked to the cupboards in the room and pulled out one of the hideous shirts and loincloth-things that Danny and Matt had been wearing.

“Do I have to?” Stiles asked.

“Yes.” Lydia rolled her eyes. “And get used to it. I don’t know if you are aware of this but you’ve signed yourself up to serve here for the foreseeable future.”

“Oh really? I wasn’t aware.” Stiles took the clothes and pulled them on over his wax-smooth skin. It felt odd. And when he turned to the mirror, he looked odd.

He had always been a little self-conscious but this was ridiculous. He was skinny with some lean muscle -not a hideous physique - but he never bared his pale and mole-dotted skin. His shaven head made him look his age, where as his hair when longer had lent him a year or two. His skin was baby-smooth. He tried to pull the open shirt further around himself, remembering the tanned slave – whom he had been told was the one called Danny – and his muscles and six-pack.

“Danny’s going to make me look like a skinny waif,” He muttered.

“Leave it alone.” Lydia batted Stiles’ hands away from the shirt and fixed it open again. “Though I hate to admit it, you are actually not too hard on the eyes.”

“You are too kind to me.”

“Don’t make me be less kind.”

Stiles liked Lydia. Their back-and-forth flowed comfortably, and had so far taken his mind off of his situation. Kira seemed friendly too. If Stiles had to put up with serving Kate Argent, at least he had people here who were kind to him.

“What I said before, about you being handsome,” Lydia said to him as they walked towards where Kate was expecting him. “The Domina clearly thinks so too, and she will have a heightened interest in you because of your decision to come here willingly. Just be careful of her. Do as she says. Don’t put the word-vomit you clearly possess to use. You’ll survive. I will see you later.”

“Thanks Lydia,” Stiles said, aiming for sarcasm and landing in quiet sincerity.

When Stiles entered the room, Kate was lounging on a long plush seat, waiting for him. “Ah Stiles. Come here.”

She stood as he approached, and the moment he was in reaching distance, a hand immediately travelled over his shorn hair. “Adorable,” She said, using the word she had once used to describe him all those years ago. “From the first day I laid eyes on you, you have intrigued me, Stiles. You were clearly disobedient at times in Lord Argent’s house.” She tilted her head, considering, “And yet when you followed orders, it always felt like an accomplishment, rather than it being my right as the sister of your Master to make those orders. It was peculiar. But now I am your Mistress, your Domina, and whilst I enjoy a challenge at times, disobedience is forbidden. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Domina.”

She closed her eyes with a triumphant smile on her face. “Music to my ears. Do not disappoint me, Stiles.”

Before Stiles knew what was happening, Kate’s eyes were open and she was closing a gold-coloured band around his neck.

“You are mine now,” She said, tilting his head back to admire the collar. “And it looks good on you. Though I warn you now, if I gain word that my brother has heard anything from you that I do not wish him to hear…” She backhanded Stiles hard across the face. “You and your Scott will pay for your disobedience.”

 

***

 

Below the house of Kate Argent, down in the Ludus, Scott was having a collar of his own fitted.

“This may burn for a little while,” Doctor Deaton apologised to him as he closed the collar, which was dark in colour and looked somewhat like leather, around Scott’s throat, “But you will grow used to it.”

Scott knew he would have to grow used to a lot of things; being able to hear conversations streets away and the individual drips of a tap from yards away; being able to see better, smell better than he ever had before. He was so strong now that he could probably break stone with his bare hands if he wanted to. He would have to grow used to being on his own, and not seeing his mother, Allison and Stiles every day. He would have to learn how to fight for his life and learn to stand on his own against Weres far bigger and more powerful than he. He would have to learn how to survive.

The biggest irony of this whole damn disaster was that Scott used to actually enjoy watching the Gladiator tournaments he had attended whilst waiting on the Argent family. Stiles hated the fights, so Scott was often given the job of server, and spent the day at the arena in Stiles’ stead. Standing in prime position behind the Argent family in one of the boxes for the rich and wealthy, Scott had always had great views of the fights. He had admired the skill and strength of the fighters and was in uneducated awe of their half-transformation with their wolf-like features. Although the blood and gore could be extremely difficult to witness, and a fight ending in a thumbs-down response from the audience (which led to the loser being put to death) was hard to watch, Scott still respected the fighters that came out on top. Now, he wondered how he ever found a thrill in watching such fights, because now here he stood, bitten and changed himself, without a single clue of how he had any hope in hell of surviving his first fight, let alone any more than one. He could picture the losers he had seen over the years, their blood and guts scattering the sands, and knew that after the next full moon, the next dying Were would most likely be him.

The collar felt like it was glowing hot when it hit his skin, like the brands that they used on the horses at Chris Argent’s house. Scott flinched away, and clenched his teeth to stop himself from screaming.

“Sorry,” Doctor Deaton said, sincere.

The Doctor had given him a health check, and would be helping to guide Scott in his initial training as a Were, and then at the Ludus, if it was decided he was to become a fighter. Deaton seemed mellow, and had so far been kind towards Scott, and Scott immediately liked him. The Doctor was human, and seemed very out of place in Kate Argent’s employ. He had an air about him which made Scott wonder if there was more to the Doctor than met the eye.

“The collars are made from a special formula, which includes traces of mistletoe and Wolf’s Bane,” The Doctor explained, “Both of those are poisonous to Weres, but this is a tiny dose that is not directly against the skin. It will hurt for some time, but your accelerated healing will mean that you will grow accustomed to wearing it all the time. I would have you know that this is not my creation, nor my rules. Gerard Argent discovered the means to making the collars years ago, and Kate is adamant that they are used. I have no choice in the matter.”

Scott had been so focused on the pain caused by the collar that he only just came to realise that the moment that the collar had closed around his neck, everything had become silent again. He could not hear every tiny sound around him. He could not see every tiny detail of every object in the room. It was like his newly found powers had just vanished.

 “What does it do?” Scott asked, assuming the collar was to blame, and raised a hand to tug at the collar before realising it would burn his fingers too. He dropped his hand again quickly.  “Why does it contain those things?”

“Because,” A voice interrupted them, blasé on the surface, and yet Scott could pick out annoyance and anger too, bubbling away underneath. “Whilst we wear them we cannot transform into our complete forms. They take away our right to use the instincts and power our gift brings us.”

Scott turned toward the speaker, and found him leaning nonchalantly against the frame of the door, arms crossed over his chest, and one foot hooked over the other; casual in demeanour, but there was intensity in those cold, blue eyes. His hair was a light shade of brown, his skin pale, and he was wearing tattered brown trousers, that were tied tight to his legs by strips of a darker material that were wound around his thighs, and more thickly around the thick boots on his feet. His chest was, for the most part, bare, like most Gladiators Scott had ever seen fight. But this man was a Were, so there was not a scar on him. It looked like he had never seen battle in his life. But Scott knew not to be fooled and that this was a hardened warrior.

Deaton decided to introduce them; “Peter, this is Scott, our latest recruit. Formerly a house slave for Chris Argent.”

Peter’s lips curved into a knowing smirk, and he nodded sharply.

“And this, Scott, is Peter Hale. Or you may know him better as…”

“The _Defeater of Death_?” Scott finished for him, amazed, but also suddenly even more intimidated by the man.

He realised that he had seen this man fight before in the arena. The man had been in his wolf-form during the fights which was why Scott had not immediately recognised him. Peter Hale was known as the _Defeater of Death_ , because there had been a number of occasions where everybody thought he had gone down to the sands and wasn’t getting back up again, but at the last moment had struck and won. Rumour had it, he had spent a month in a coma, and his heart had stopped beating twice following fights over the years, but he had always somehow come back, stronger each time.

Peter gave a mock-bow. “In the flesh and bone,” Peter said.

“Peter is one of the Gladiators assigned to your training,” Deaton told Scott, “He is a born Were, so knows more than most about how best to train newly turned Weres. He is also one of the longest serving Gladiators of the Ludus, so you will be trained to be the very best.”

“Kate…I mean…” Scott stalled himself, berating himself for using her first name, “The Domina, has said to my former master that I may not have to fight. I may not prove strong enough to become a Gladiator.”

“Oh, you’ll be strong enough,” Peter cut in, his gaze boring unnervingly into Scott again. “I have little doubt about that.”

Peter pushed himself away from the wall and sauntered into the room, and Scott had to force himself not to flinch away when Peter reached out his hand to trace his fingers across Scott’s new collar. Scott was surprised Peter would try to touch it, but Scott did not see any pain at all cross Peter’s face. Scott supposed Peter was now long used to his own collar, which stood out starkly against Peter’s paler skin.

“Your first lesson,” Peter began, “Is about the collars. We have to wear these at all times in the Ludus and in the house, and even in combat training. The collars work to suppress our powers. Even a born Were such as I, whilst wearing my collar, cannot extend my claws, cannot grow my fangs, cannot use my strength and cannot change into my Were form. The collars essentially lock our powers inside of us. It is so the Argents do not have to fear an uprising, because as long as we wear these fucking collars, the humans are just as strong as we are. And don’t even bother trying to remove it. If the leather so much as breaks, the poison inside it is designed to leak into our skin and kill us slowly. I have seen it happen. It isn’t pretty. Don’t try to take it off. _They,_ however, can take the collars off…” Peter’s fingers tapped on a small square of metal that joined the collar, it was the only bit of it that felt cool against Scott’s skin. Peter sounded bored as he explained, like he had explained it one too many times. “…with the use of keys, which Kate Argent keeps locked in her rooms. There is no getting to them. That has been tried too. Didn't end well. Don’t try it. There are four occasions in which the collars are taken off. The first is for ‘monitored’ gladiator training; training sessions where we spend the whole time under the watch of armoured guards that have arrows and swords and spears laced with Wolfsbane. The second is just before you enter the arena, and during the fight. The third is if you are so badly injured after a fight that you require accelerated healing, in which case they keep the collars off for an extended period of time, but it’s controlled and monitored by guards. The fourth is on the full moon. They can’t suppress our powers over full moon for the fear of our natural instincts overpowering the collars, and growing immune to them, so they lock us all up individually. Most of us can control ourselves on full moons, of course, but they don’t trust us not to use our strength to escape.”

Peter came to a stop, and Scott swayed a little on the medical table, overwhelmed and feeling faintly sick. Surely he would not be made to fight. Surely he would not require the collar taken off at all. If he kept the collar on, he would not ever have to deal with the powers of a Were at all. Why could he not have this collar and remain at the House of Chris Argent, with his mother and Allison. He wouldn’t have to stay here. Stiles wouldn’t have to stay here. They could both go home.

Deaton seemed to read his chain of thought, because he shook his head gently, “You would not be able to wear a collar and remain living free in the human world. The collar is too obvious, and would be easily recognised.  You would be known as a Were, captured as one, and be sent to the mines.”

“But if they made a collar,” Scott started desperately, “Surely they could make something less obvious? An arm band or something that could be concealed by clothes?”

Peter laughed an unsympathetic laugh, “They could. But they won’t. This is an Argent speciality item. Why would they make anything to help a Were? Kate hates Weres more than any other thing, living or dead. She would not make a means for us to wander around outside undetected,” Peter paused and smirked, “Unless it suits her, of course.”

Scott swallowed, the collar restricting the movement and burning all the more at the realisation that this collar was not a blessing in its suppression of his powers, it was in fact a curse, because the suppression would only help to lesser him further, not help him regain some normality.

“We will be taking your collar on and off more often during your training with me and Derek, of course. So you can grow accustomed to your gift,” Peter said. “Under guard, obviously. Because gods forbid we could do anything without being under guard.”

Peter was the only person in the world Scott had ever heard refer to being a Were as a ‘gift’. How could Peter even think of it as a gift, if all Peter’s gift had done was make him a slave forced to fight for his survival? He did not dare question this aloud however, and instead asked, “Who’s Derek?”

“My nephew,” Peter replied.

Scott’s mind immediately pieced two and two together. Derek Hale. _The Undefeated Alpha_. Currently the country’s most successful Gladiator, and the pride of the Argents’ _Wolves_ at the _Lupus Ludus_.

At least by training with Derek and Peter Hale, Scott might have a slight chance at proving a good Were, and surviving the arena. He hoped there was still a small chance that Kate might decide not to make him a Gladiator but, if Peter’s word meant anything, Scott most likely would prove strong enough to become one.

“Scott, if you would like to go into the next room and change, your training will begin immediately,” Deaton told him.

Scott swallowed back a renewed threat of tears, determined not to look weak in front of Peter Hale, who was, Scott had already decided, a rather unsettling individual; eerie in his temperamental switches between mocking disinterest and intense rage. He nodded to Deaton and Peter, and slipped off the table.

He was glad to close the door of the small dressing area of Deaton’s surgery and put some distance between himself and the strangers on the other side. He rested his head against the wood and closed his eyes, attempting to get his breathing back under control. He did not need super-hearing in order to overhear said strangers discussing his future through the door.

“I think he may prove to be a strong Were,” Doctor Deaton was saying.

“Oh, he’ll be a strong Were, without a doubt,” Peter Hale replied dismissively, “What matters is whether he is going to be strong enough to survive on the sands.”

Deaton hummed, noncommitting, “I suppose we will not know until the next full moon and his first true change. A strange coincidence, isn’t it, that the first person that I have heard of getting randomly attacked in the street by a rogue Were in this town in years, just so happens to be a house slave of the Argent family. Don’t you think?”

“You think there’s something more to it?”

“It isn’t impossible. The Argents have a lot of enemies. A lot of supernatural enemies.”

He heard Peter scoff. “If it was an act of revenge, why would they attack a house slave? The Argents don’t care about house slaves. It would have done better to have gone after the daughter.”

Scott’s stomach tightened. Just the thought of Allison in his place had him feeling physically sick. Surely if Allison had been bitten, she would not have been shipped off to a Ludus like he had. Though, having met Kate and Gerard Argent, Scott could not be so sure of what fate she would have had.

“That may be so,” Deaton replied, “But it appears Chris Argent may be softer on the lad than most. He’s allowed another of his house slaves to accompany Scott, and that slave is to report back to Chris on how the pair of them are treated. Chris is determined to keep a close eye on his sister in this transaction of slaves. Which also means, Peter, that you also must treat the boy well. None of your usual antics.”

“Antics?” Peter asked, tone faux-innocent, “I wouldn’t dare invoke the wrath of Chris Argent. But I’d rather suffer his wrath than that of our oh-so-powerful Domina. She won’t allow anything to be reported back to Chris that she does not want him to hear. That boy and his little friend won’t be reporting anything bad back to Chris Argent. She’ll make damn sure they are aware of that.”

Scott froze, once again wracked with guilt for what Stiles might have to suffer at the hands of Kate Argent upstairs. As long as Stiles held his tongue and did what he was told, Kate would not have a reason to harm him. The problem was, Stiles had never been one to play by the rules.

Scott pushed himself away from the door, unwilling to overhear any more of the conversation that had done nothing but make him more afraid and guilty. And now he would have to face Peter Hale again, and Derek Hale, the famous _Undefeated Alpha_ , and pretend to be brave.

He would have to pretend to be brave for the foreseeable future. He just hoped he could play the part. And that Stiles could too.

 

***

 

It was two days before Stiles saw Scott again. He was on kitchen duties, and a part of those duties was to serve food to the _Wolves_.

He and Matt struggled down stone steps and into the depths of the Ludus below the house, heaving a big pot of broth between them, with Danny close behind with a large basket filled with loaves of bread. They waited for a guard to open the barred gate to the Ludus and then hauled the pot through. Stiles’ muscles were straining with the effort, and he was panting from the exertion and the heat radiating from the pot. Those problems, however, muted the moment they stepped into the Ludus.

Stiles stared about him as they passed through a large room that was not dissimilar to a stable. Or a prison. He could not help but gawp at the strange cage-like compartments; open barred cells carpeted with thin blankets and hay. He knew that these must be the sleeping quarters, but he could barely believe that people were expected to sleep in them. At a couple of points there were breaks in the cells on either side, as they branched off into corridors to the left, lined with heavy wooden doors, with small barred windows in the tops. They passed those quickly, and Stiles did not get to have a proper look. His interest for exploring the depths of the Ludus, however, disappeared as he became distracted once again, and they entered the dining hall of the Gladiators.

They set the pot and the basket of bread on a large table at the end of the room, which was filled with long tables and benches for the Gladiators to eat their meals. The dining room was only walled on three sides. The missing wall opened straight onto the sands of the training grounds. As he laid out bowls ready for the broth, he kept glancing at the sands. He hoped to see Scott, but his friend was nowhere to be seen. What he saw instead, were grown, muscled men, and lithe, strong women, all wearing very little, and slashing at each other with blunted weapons. They were training for the days when those weapons would not be blunt. They would be very, very sharp.

Once the table was ready, Danny produced a hand bell from under the table and rang it. Immediately the _Wolves_ abandoned their training weapons and began lining up for their food. Stiles was curious to see what the _Wolves_ were like. He had never been close to a Were before Scott was bitten, and although he knew that they were just like him or Danny, or, of course, like Scott, he wondered what the more battle-hardened Weres were like.

“The more experienced Gladiators eat first,” Danny explained to Stiles as he broke off a piece of bread to hand to the first Gladiator in line. “The new ones go to the back, so your friend won’t be here yet.”

“Oh,” Stiles said, filling a bowl up with stew and handing it over to the waiting Gladiator whilst Danny offered the bread.

Danny smiled lopsidedly at Stiles’ obvious disappointment. “You will be seeing him in a minute. And you have permission from the Domina to sit and eat with Scott this afternoon as part of your visiting time. So cheer up! It won’t be for long but you’ll get some time with him.”

“I haven’t gone without seeing Scott this long in my whole five years of knowing him,” Stiles admitted.

Danny smiled kindly at him, before turning to acknowledge one of the Gladiators. “Jackson. How are you?”

The handsome blonde man on the other side of the table clasped arms with Danny. Stiles noticed the strange wolf symbol that belonged to the Argent family branded on his arm just above the leather bindings around his wrists. It was a mark that all the Gladiators wore branded into their skin, somehow designed so that it would not heal and fade like every other mark. “I’m good, Danny, beating the crap out of these idiots as always. How are you?”

“Same as usual,” Danny dismissed with a grin.

The blonde beamed back at Danny. His voice was lowered for the next question, and he glanced to the side of him to make sure the Gladiator beside him was too occupied with getting his bowl of stew from Matt, “And how’s Lydia?”

“She is fine. She’s been taking care of Stiles here for the last couple of days.”

Jackson’s blue gaze landed on Stiles for the first time. “So this is the newbies’ little friend is it?”

Stiles bristled at being referred to as the ‘little friend’, and the fact that Jackson knew that Stiles was here solely for Scott; though he assumed that news travelled as fast in this house and Ludus as it did in Chris Argent’ house, and that all the Gladiators probably knew.

“It is,” Danny nodded. “Play nice, Jackson.”

“I’m always nice.” Jackson bared a grin that suggested he was anything but. Stiles took the opportunity to regard the muscled body before him, barely covered by the leather padding strapped here and there. Apparently Kate had a theme for the household dress-sense; more skin than cloth. “I’ll speak to you after you’ve fed this bunch, right?” Jackson asked Danny.

“Right,” Danny agreed, and Jackson moved on. Danny caught Stiles staring. “You aren’t the only one with friends in the Ludus.” He smiled. “I get visiting time too for good behaviour.”

“And Lydia?” Stiles asked curiously. The arrogant Jackson seemed rather interested in Lydia’s welfare. He wondered whether Lydia returned that concern over Jackson. “Your friend seems rather keen to know how she is.”

“They have become friends of late,” Danny commented absently, breaking off more bread. “But best keep it between us. Ok?”

Stiles nodded quickly. He would never pass on any information that would find its way back to Kate Argent. He would never do that to the other slaves of the Ludus. He was not a snitch. And he would certainly not aid Kate Argent.

Finally, the long line of Gladiators dwindled; all branded as Argent property, all scantily armoured, and all seemingly as human and as undeserving of their fate as Stiles had expected they would be. They mostly ignored Stiles, Danny and Matt, being more interested in their food, and for that Stiles was glad.

“Next,” Matt called out.

Stiles filled up a bowl and held it out. He looked up to meet familiar smiling-but-exhausted brown eyes.

“Scott!” Stiles yelped, overjoyed, flinging the bowl to the table and scrambling underneath it to launch himself into Scott’s arms. “How are you? Are you ok? How are they treating you?” Stiles gabbled, holding Scott at arm’s length to scan him. Scott’s hair was shorter than it had been, no longer falling over his ears, and he was wearing similar leather garments to the _Wolves_ before him, but to Stiles’ relief, he was a bit more padded out and protected than the others. “What happened to your hair?” Stiles asked finally.

Scott laughed. “I could say the same to you.” He ran a hand over Stiles’ close-cut hair. Stiles was chagrined to discover that his hair had been cut much shorter than Scott’s. But Scott’s attention did not linger on the fate of their hair, when his eyes fell to the bruise on Stiles’ cheekbone. “What is this?” He asked worriedly, trailing the hand down over Stiles’ cheek.

“A welcome present from our Domina,” Stiles grimaced. “It happened not long after we arrived.”

“I…” Scott stalled. “Oh Stiles. It is good to see you here, it really is, but I also wish you hadn’t put yourself in this position. You didn’t have to come here. You didn’t have to serve her.”

“We have discussed this,” Stiles sniffed. “I’m here to stay. Deal with it.”

“Stiles,” Danny’s soft voice butted in. He pushed a bowl of broth and a chunk of bread into Scott’s hands. “I’m going to be over there with Jackson. I’ll come and get you when it’s time to leave.”

Stiles nodded and accepted his own bowl and bread from Matt, who was staying to feed the stragglers who had been training on the sand.

Stiles sat down opposite Scott on the nearest empty table. “So fill me in. Are things ok?”

“Things are better than I could have hoped,” Scott shrugged. “The people have been ok for the most part and I’ve been told they will warm to me over time. Jackson has given me a bit of a hard time.”

“Uh huh. I’ve met that guy,” Stiles muttered disapprovingly.

“But some of the _Wolves_ I’ve met so far are quite nice.” Scott turned a bit on the wooden bench to scan the room. “The blonde girl over there is called Erica and with her is Isaac – that’s the curly haired one – and the other is Boyd. They were the last lot of ‘newbies’, so they have been nicest to me. Isaac is quite shy but he’s friendly.”

Stiles eyed the three Wolves. Erica looked like she could be fierce and fiery; she was gorgeous in her armour, like a warrior queen. Boyd had muscles that made him immediately intimidating, and Isaac was slight, and more like Scott, cute as a button and looked as innocent as a puppy.

“Isaac doesn’t seem much like a Gladiator,” Stiles commented.

“I know. But apparently when he shifts he is a great fighter. He used to fight in illegal pits, and he survived them. So there is hope for me,” Scott joked weakly.

“You may yet get a job working in the Ludus rather than fighting,” Stiles reminded him, resolute. “How is the control training going? They haven’t made you do any of _that_ sort of training…” he pointed out to the sands and the discarded blunted weapons, “…have they?”

“No, they haven’t made me train with the Gladiators. I’ve been separate, and will remain so until I have control of my powers and get past my first full moon. The control training is going ok. It’s really hard. Gods knows how exhausting Gladiator training must be.” Scott’s eyes fell to the table for the moment, before finding Stiles’ again with a wavering smile, “So far I have been working with Deaton, who is the Ludus doctor. He’s human. He has been kind to me so far but he’s mysterious. I haven’t quite figured him out yet. And then there are the Hales. Peter Hale, the _Defeater of Death_ …”

Scott paused and looked at Stiles expectantly. Stiles had only ever seen a couple of Gladiator fights, and paid little interest in them beyond that, but he had heard of the _Defeater of Death_.

“He is weird, and I don’t think he is very happy about being made to train newbies.” Scott looked around the room for Peter. “He’s at the food table now.”

Stiles turned in his seat to look at the man at the table. Peter Hale was chiselled, lean, but equipped with compact muscle. His narrowed eyes scanned the room, catching on to Stiles and Scott before disinterestedly moving on.

“He looks friendly,” Stiles deadpanned.

“Wait until you see his nephew, Derek Hale.”

“Derek Hale?” Stiles may have vaguely recalled the name of Peter Hale, the _Defeater of Death_ , but he definitely had heard of Derek Hale. He had never seen him fight, but his name was unavoidable in society and in the conversation of Kate Argent whenever she had been to visit her brother. “Derek Hale as in the _Undefeated Alpha_?”

“That’s him. He is the best fighter in the Ludus. He is arguably the best alpha fighter in the country,” Scott said this with some amount of awe, and Stiles frowned at him. Scott had always enjoyed accompanying the Argents to Gladiator tournaments. He knew all about the most famous Gladiators, and would find the fights thrilling. Now that he was potentially going to be on the sands, Stiles had expected him to have completely  lost that excitement, but apparently in the face of some of his ‘heroes’, Scott still possessed some of that awe. “Jackson is the best beta fighter,” Scott was saying. “They call him _The Kanima_ because he was once involved in an infamous fight where all the Gladiators were armed with poison-tipped spears, and at the end of it he was the only one still standing. Kanima’s are apparently creatures that use venom to paralyse their prey.”

Stiles brushed aside the trivia information about Jackson, swallowing down his dread that one day Scott may get a nickname of his own for some terrible fight, if he survived long enough to make an impression. “Which one is Derek?”

“Erm…” Scott looked around the room again. “He’s…he’s…” Scott suddenly ducked his head, looking into his stew. “He’s looking right at us.”

“What?” Stiles swung around to look where Scott had been looking and found himself staring into heavily-browed eyes from across the room. “Him?” He asked weakly.

“Yes,” Scott said, spooning his stew into his mouth.

Derek Hale was sitting at a table across the room, Peter Hale at his side talking close to his ear, but Derek’s eyes were fixed on Scott and Stiles. He had black spiked hair and a frown on his ridiculously handsome face. And gods, was it a handsome face.

“He can’t hear us can he?” Stiles frowned, before panicking so much he flailed and nearly fell off the bench. “Weres have amazing hearing right?” He glanced around them nervously, at Jackson, Isaac, Erica and Boyd. He prayed that none of the _Wolves_ they had been discussing had overheard them.

“He would be able to if it weren’t for these,” Scott thumbed the dark collar around his neck and winced. “These have something in them that suppresses the Were powers, according to Deaton. I am only allowed to take it off for my control training. The same goes for the Gladiators. The collars are worn at all times unless it’s what they call ‘Shift Training’ where the _Wolves_ train in Were form, or when they are fighting in the arena.”

“Shit,” Stiles said, glancing back at Derek and seeing that not only had he turned his attention back to his uncle, but he was also wearing a collar. All the wolves were. “That sucks.”

“You’re telling me,” Scott frowned. “I see you have one too.”

“Mine is shinier than yours,” Stiles grinned.

Scott didn’t smile as Stiles had intended him to. Instead he just looked terribly sad. “I miss the arm clasps we had at Chris and Victoria’s,” Scott said. “Collars feel so much more demeaning.”

“I think that is the whole reason for them,” Stiles’ grin turned bitter.

Scott leant over the table and closer to Stiles. “Kate has been ok to you, hasn’t she? She hasn’t hurt you apart from…” He gestured to Stiles’ face.

“That was to warn me against reporting anything back to Chris that hasn’t been approved by her ladyship. We have played into her hands a little, coming here together. We are each other’s bargaining chips against the other.”

Scott flinched, as though he knew something Stiles didn’t, and his hand reached out and clasped Stiles’. “It will be ok.”

“I know. And besides, that’s what I should be telling you,” Stiles smiled. “Now eat your food before it gets cold. I spent a lot of time on that broth.”

Scott rolled his eyes and dug into his meal, clearly ravenous.

They ate in companionable silence for a minute or two, before they were well and truly interrupted. Stiles had not noticed the two Gladiators approach them until they were standing right over them. He glanced up at them apprehensively. He didn’t recognise them, and they weren’t any of the Gladiators Scott had mentioned to him. They were huge. Built and bearded and hostile-looking.

“Lunchtime’s over, new meat,” One of the Weres grinned, stealing the rest of the bread from Scott’s hand. “We fighters deserve larger portions.”

In an instant Scott was on his feet. “Give that back.”

The Were appeared taken aback at first, before he recovered and leered at him. “Are you going to make me?” Before shoving Scott back into the table.

Stiles was flying around the table in an instant to stand beside Scott. “Give the bread back and fuck off.”

That seemed to cause more surprise that Scott’s defiance did. “Now, now, pretty house-boy.” The Were eyed Stiles up and down. “You shouldn’t start a fight you have no hope in hells of winning. Back down.”

“I don’t think so,” Scott growled, and Stiles was proud of his friend for standing up for himself and standing his ground. Scott was already learning to survive here, which gave Stiles hope.

The second Were tilted his head to the side and smirked, “Tell you what, pretty house-boy. You and Little Wolf can have the bread back if you do something good for me.” He winked. His friend laughed.

Stiles sneered. “I’d rather gouge my eyes out with a rusty spoon.”

“And you can take the bread,” Scott turned up his nose, “From what I have heard, it will be the first prize you have won as a Gladiator in a long while.”

When their responses raised laughter from the nearest table in earshot, the Were with the bread growled in fury, and his fist raised in the air and he drew it back with a curl of his lip.

Stiles and Scott prepared to counter-attack. Stiles grabbed the nearest weapon to hand – which happened to be the spoon he had been eating his broth with – and held it out threateningly.

But before anything could happen, the Were’s fist suddenly dropped and for a split second Stiles was amused that they had backed down from Scott and Stiles, of all people, before he became distinctly aware of a presence beside them.

“Back off, Smith,” Derek Hale snarled, stepping between Stiles, Scott and the two Weres.

The Were with the bread – Smith - did a double-take, before his face neutralised again. “Sure. Whatever.” He spat a glob of saliva toward Scott and Stiles, took a large bite of the bread in his hand and quickly turned away.

Scott and Stiles both instinctively took a step forward angrily at being spat at, but an armoured arm swung out to block the two of them. Derek looked down at Scott, frowning in disapproval. “We do not fight against our brothers outside of the training ground,” Derek’s voice wasn’t as low as Stiles had expected it would be. It sounded softer, and younger. “Go to the training room, Scott. Now.” Then hard eyes landed on Stiles. “Fighting is not tolerated here. Particularly from house-slaves.” Stiles nearly flinched at the harsh tone, as well as what Derek said being true. The house-slaves were considered to be decorative; not getting in Gladiator brawls. He must be something of an oddity to the _Wolves_ of the Argent Ludus. Derek narrowed his eyes at him, “I would get back upstairs if I were you.”

“I get visitor’s rights,” Stiles blurted angrily.

Derek looked surprised that he was even being questioned. It was clear to see that Derek wasn’t used to being challenged. It wasn’t surprising. Derek made a commanding and intimidating presence, with a muscular physique, and dark leather armour covering very little of the broad expanses of skin.

“Stiles,” Scott muttered under his breath, in warning for Stiles’ outburst.

“Scott,” Derek barked. “Now.”

“See you soon Stiles,” Scott promised, squeezing Stiles’ wrist, before weaving his way through the tables. Scott seemed afraid of Derek. Smith and his friend had backed off immediately at Derek’s order. With all good sense Stiles should do as he was told too, but Stiles also refused to back down from an argument.

Derek’s cold glare turned back to him. “If you don’t behave yourself in the Ludus, you will not be allowed back. Your visitor’s rights will be revoked if the Domina finds out you are picking fights with the Gladiators. And she will make sure that you do not embarrass her again.”

“But she won’t find out, will she?” Stiles asked nervously, the bruise on his cheek aching in anticipation of the punishment.

Derek frowned at him but didn’t reply. He looked over Stiles’ shoulder. “Danny, I think it’s time that the new slave went back upstairs, don’t you?”

“My name is Stiles,” Stiles offered, unable to keep his mouth closed despite being more than a little scared of the guy and his intense stare.

Derek looked taken aback for the second time. His lip curled back into a half-snarl.

“Stiles,” Danny hissed urgently. “Time to go. Time. Now.”

As Danny and Stiles exited the hall, with many eyes following them, Stiles heard Jackson exclaim “The new wolf and house-slave have a death wish.”

“I like them,” Erica decided loudly, as Stiles and Danny entered the sleeping accommodation and away from the dining hall.

Stiles could feel Derek Hale’s gaze following him all the way out of the room.

*

“Are you insane?!” Lydia rounded on Stiles the moment Danny had filled her in on why they were back in the kitchen earlier than expected.

“I thought we had established this,” Stiles commented.

“Well it is clear I was right! You pick a fight with Smith and _then_ talk back to the _Undefeated Alpha_?!”

“He was scary. My mouth runs away with me when I’m nervous. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not me you should be apologising to! Derek is a formidable warrior and demands respect. The other Weres _do_ respect him and so should you! And if the Domina finds out then…” Lydia shuddered. “You clearly have no sense of self-preservation!”

“I was trying to stand up for Scott.”

“Scott will learn to stand up for himself. If Derek supports him, which by the sound of it he does - despite the mess you two made - then Scott will gain the respect he needs. Derek is the best of the best and you should put more faith in him, but be afraid of him too, because you don’t know Derek like we do.”

 

***

Later that day, Stiles was cleaning in the Pool Hall of the House; a large room paved and walled in cool white stone, with cushions and seating scattered about, and a water pool standing as a feature in the very centre.

He looked up when he heard footsteps, and found Lydia standing before him, balancing a tray of drinks and a small bowl of fruit on her hand.  “The Domina has requested that you attend her this afternoon out on the balcony,” Lydia said.

Stiles stood up, dropping the damp washcloth he was holding into the tub of water beside him. He straightened his clothes and wrung his hands nervously. “You don’t think she heard about what happened earlier, do you?”

“Probably,” Lydia replied shortly, “There isn’t much that passes her notice.” She walked up to Stiles and handed over the tray. “She learns most things that go on here.”

Stiles levelled her with a knowing look, “But she doesn’t know everything. Does she?”

“No,” Lydia said, kneeling down to carry on the job Stiles had been halfway through. She tucked a stray strand of her auburn hair behind her ear. “Not absolutely everything.”

He knew what she was implying. Lydia was hiding a secret from her Domina. Stiles would have to learn how to be more discreet, to learn how to keep his secrets too. He had a feeling Lydia would help him do so.

He nodded to her, before heading to the balcony.

Kate Argent was out in the open already, basking in a low chair with a sloped back. She was dressed in a plum purple dress, her hair loose and rippling about her shoulders in the breeze. She was looking down at the view.

The view just so happened to be the training sands of the Ludus. Apparently she often came out onto the balcony to watch her Gladiators train down below her.

Stiles could not see Scott anywhere; probably off doing his control training, as Peter Hale was also absent from the sand. Derek Hale, however, was not. Stiles spotted him immediately; his dark hair and coiled muscles catching Stiles’ eye at once. He was moving against his ‘opponent’ with such relentless skill that he was making his victory look stupidly easy.

“Domina,” Stiles averted his gaze and looked back to Kate, alerting her of his presence.

“Ah, Stiles,” She acknowledged, holding her hand out.

Stiles lowered the tray so that she could choose the drink she wanted. “Leave the fruit on the side table and the drinks on the back ledge,” She ordered.

Stiles did as he was told.

“Come here, Stiles,” She said, her eyes not once leaving the sands.

Stiles moved beside her.

“Look at them Stiles. What do you think of my Gladiators? Strong, aren’t they? The best examples of their unfavourable species.”

“They fight very well, Domina.”

“How would you know, Stiles? If my memory serves me right, I barely ever saw you accompany my brother and sister-in-law to tournaments.”

Stiles swallowed. He did not dare tell her that his parents had greatly disapproved of the treatment of Weres, and through direct association, any kind of Gladiator event. “I was not often asked to attend,” He settled on.

“It is a pity, as you have missed out on some of the greatest sporting spectacles of our generation.”

“I do not doubt it, Domina.”

“Though I suppose it is useful that Scott was the one most commonly chosen to attend to the family at tournaments, as he may have picked up a thing or two.”

“Yes, Domina,” Stiles replied quietly, disliking the fact that Kate was already apparently in the mind that Scott was to become a Gladiator. Stiles reckoned she had never even considered giving Scott another, safer, role in the house.

“But you can see now, how they fight.”

“Yes, Domina.”

“And yet, you were so willing to start a fight with one.”

Before Stiles knew what was happening, Kate’s hand had closed on his arm, and the sharp rings on her fingers, and her long nails, dug hard enough into his skin to draw blood to the surface. Stiles yelped in surprise, and then stubbornly stifled any further noise. His eyes watered furiously, but just as Kate was doing, Stiles kept his eyes fixed firmly on the training down below. If he made a scene, he knew he would be punished worse than this.

“I heard what happened today.”

Stiles’ fingers twitched in pain, desperate to pull his arm free, but was too afraid to. “Domina?”

“Don’t play the fool, Stiles. You know exactly what I am talking about; your little display down in the dining area.”

Stiles moved his eyes desperately across the fighters, wishing to find something to distract himself from the pain rushing through the soft skin of his underarm. He found his distraction, surprisingly, in the form of Derek Hale. As Stiles’ eyes passed over Derek for a second time, the Gladiator happened to glance up at the balcony. Derek had finished his fight, and was busy choosing a new weapon to train with. His hands stalled as their eyes locked gaze.

Even from all the way up on the balcony, Stiles could see how Derek’s eyes flickered down to the hold that Kate had on Stiles’ arm and back up to their faces again. He was frowning. Though Stiles doubted the man knew how to smile even if he wanted to.

“A house slave should never pick a fight with a Gladiator. You embarrassed yourself today. And you embarrassed me. I will not have that, Stiles. And consider this your final warning…” The nails dug in harder and Stiles winced, leaning into the hold a little more in an attempt to lessen the strain. He broke eye contact with Derek Hale as he did so and did not dare look back. “I will revoke your rights to visit Scott if this should happen again. And it will not happen again. If you put one more toe out of line I swear to you that you will regret it most deeply.”

Kate finally released her hold on Stiles’ arm and he drew it up towards himself, not daring to look down at the gouges in his skin. “Yes Domina,” Stiles said, his voice betraying him by wavering in upset, “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“Good boy,” Kate replied absently, as though her attention was already focused elsewhere. Her eyes followed the men on the sand. Lingering, Stiles could not help but notice, on her prize Gladiator. Her _Undefeated Alpha_. Derek Hale was not looking up at the balcony anymore. “Now leave me.”

Stiles was more than happy to obey.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles had resolutely decided to be on his best behaviour following the incident in the Ludus dining hall. He did not want his visiting rights with Scott revoked. He did not want Kate to hurt him again. He decided that the next time he was sent to the dining hall on kitchen duties, he would not rise to any provocation. He also decided that it would be best to avoid, for as long as possible, the scrutiny and disappointment of Derek Hale, one of the country’s most famous Gladiators, whom he had royally fucked up with the previous day by jumping into defensive mode with Scott against two other Gladiators, and then had proceeded to word-vomit all over Derek’s orders to back down.

Stiles had been so determined in his decision. So ready to behave in the Ludus and avoid Derek Hale.

Apparently, fate had other plans.

Just one day following the stand-off in the dining hall, and Kate warning Stiles to behave by gouging her rings and nails into his arm, he found himself confronted with Derek Hale once again.

Stiles was carrying fresh linens towards Kate’s rooms when a dark figure emerged from the corridor he was entering. He started backward, utterly surprised to see an unescorted Gladiator within the villa and not down in the Ludus.

“What are you doing here?” Stiles asked before he could stop himself. So much for not provoking Derek Hale, he cursed himself silently.

A dark eyebrow raised as the Gladiator stopped walking and regarded Stiles. “Am I not allowed to be here?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles admitted, “I don’t know all the rules of the house yet.”

“Like the rule about not fighting with the Gladiators in the dining hall?” That could have been said with amusement, but Stiles didn’t think Derek meant it to be a joke.

“Yeah, well,” Stiles placed the linens down on a decorative table and smoothed his hands over them. “I learned my lesson about that.”

He watched Derek’s eyes drop down to the scabbed wounds on Stiles’ arm; the crescent marks of sharp fingernails. Derek would have known where they would be, because he had seen Kate grab Stiles’ arm on the balcony the day before. Stiles turned the soft skin of his forearm toward himself to block Derek’s view of the marks.

He looked up at Derek suspiciously, before glancing down the corridor that Derek had come from; where Kate’s rooms were. He assumed Derek had been sent for to speak to her. “She found out about it,” He added, stating the obvious, and unable to hide a trace of accusation.

“Of course she did,” Derek said bluntly. “You stood up and defied Gladiators in front of the whole Ludus.” He crossed his arms over his chest, “I don’t know how she heard about it,” His tone was defensive, and he seemed displeased that Stiles had implied it. “But she didn’t hear it from me.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean…” Stiles paused. “Look man, thanks for yesterday and…” He stopped abruptly when two large hands grasped the two halves of Stiles’ open shirt and he was pushed back into the nearest wall.

“Do not think this makes us friends,” Derek warned, his face alarmingly close to Stiles’. “And do not underestimate me, house slave. We do not snitch on each other, but that does not make me a pushover. I could rip your throat out with my teeth.”

And so he could, if he wanted. Derek was a Gladiator, and had killed countless men in the arena.

“Well, please don’t,” Stiles squeaked.

Derek let out a huff of breath through his nose and stepped back, letting Stiles off his toes and away from the wall. He straightened out Stiles’ poor excuse for a shirt. Stiles then, for some lords only knows reason, reflexively reached out to do the same before realising there was no shirt on Derek for him to return the gesture. So he just ended up awkwardly patting one of Derek’s pecs instead. Derek raised his eyebrows, expression dangerous, and looked down at Stiles’ hand and then back up at Stiles, like he could not believe that Stiles had even dared to lay a hand on him.

Stiles snatched his hand away. “I’m taking my hand off.”

Derek’s eyebrows lowered back down his forehead again and he smirked. He then turned without another word and walked back towards the stairs that led down to the entrance of the Ludus.

Stiles let out a breath before picking up the linens and continuing toward Kate’s rooms, running their conversation over and over in his head, and trying to figure out just how Derek was allowed to move around the house of Kate Argent without a single armed guard.

*

Five days passed without incident. Stiles did not get into trouble, and mostly kept quiet and out of Kate’s attention or interest. He was largely on cleaning or serving duties. He had not been put on kitchen duty since the incident in the Ludus, which meant he had not been allowed to visit Scott for five days. It had felt like a lifetime.

On the sixth day, he saw Derek Hale in the house for a second time. Stiles had been cleaning in the back hall, distractedly looking at the stone steps that led down to the Ludus, and wondering just how he could get down there unnoticed, and then from there through the entire Ludus to see Scott, when Derek Hale appeared from the entrance to the right of the hall, once again heading back unescorted to the Ludus.

Stiles knew that it was probably foolish to acknowledge Derek after their previous encounter, but with a swift check to make sure there were no guards or other slaves present in the hall, he decided it was worth it, if only to find out how Scott was doing.

“Derek!” Stiles called out.

Derek stopped in his tracks, and his eyes immediately landed on Stiles. He didn’t say anything. But he also did not move.

Stiles abandoned his cloth and bucket and trotted over to him. “Hey,” He said, when he arrived in front of the bigger man. “How are you doing?”

Derek stared at him, like Stiles was an irritation, and said nothing.

“So, sorry for disturbing you in your stroll around the house, but I was wondering how Scott’s training was going?”

“The happenings of the Ludus should be of no concern to house slaves,” Derek said, as though the words had been branded into his memory. Maybe they had.

“Yes, but Kate promised me visiting arrangements with Scott, and it’s been five days! His first full moon is in two weeks! Can you just tell me how he is? Or send a message to him for me?”

Derek looked taken aback, and not the least bit amused. “Firstly, you should not address your mistress by her given name. She is the Domina. Secondly, I am a Gladiator of Argent’s _Lupus Ludus_. I am not your messenger. And thirdly…”

“But…” Stiles started,

Derek’s fingers curled into his palms and his eyes narrowed, “But what?”

Stiles rolled his eyes angrily, “Look. You can try this ‘Tough Guy’ act with me all you want, but I’m not afraid of you.”

In response, Derek took an intimidating step forward, and despite Stiles being rather fascinated by the unusual hazel-green colour of Derek’s eyes, the man was ultimately pretty threatening, with his scowl and his big muscly arms. For the third time in a week, Stiles found himself wondering just why he thought standing up against the country’s greatest Alpha Gladiator had been a good idea.

“Ok, maybe I am,” Stiles corrected, taking a tiny step backward.

“You should be,” Derek said, before stepping around Stiles and heading towards the stone Ludus steps.

Stiles sighed, defeated, his heart beating a little faster than it had been. He turned to return to his half-washed floor, when Derek’s voice stopped him.

“And thirdly…” Derek said, and Stiles spun around to look at him. Derek was standing at the top of the stairs, watching him with that same unimpressed expression, “Scott’s doing fine. He keeps whining about when he can next see you. I can see why you two get along so well.”

Stiles’ face broke into a big smile, and he felt lighter in his relief. “Thank you,” He said earnestly.

Derek gave an unbothered shrug, which looked strange and almost childish on such a respected warrior, and went to descend the stairs.

Stiles watched him thoughtfully until that dark hair had disappeared from view, before continuing with his work.

Later that evening Kira came to find Stiles to tell him that Kate had called Stiles to her study.

He found his Mistress at her desk with a scattering of documents about her. Stiles did not want to interrupt her for fear of angering her, and so stood until she looked up at him.

She glanced at him, acknowledged him with “Stiles,” And then went back to her writing as she spoke, more interested in her task than in whatever it was she had brought Stiles in to say. “You have not been so much of a disappointment these last few days. In fact, you have not been bothersome since the incident in the Ludus. I think that maybe you have learnt a lesson from this?”

Stiles bit his tongue, hoping his continued good behaviour would mean he would be able to visit Scott again. “Yes, Domina.”

A smug smile curled the corner of her mouth. “Good boy,” She said. She turned the page and continued to write. “There are two things that I require of you Stiles. Your obedience and your loyalty. And whilst I now have your obedience to an extent, I do not have your loyalty.” Her eyes flicked up and she pinned him with an intense, assessing stare, “Do you have anything to report?” She asked.

Stiles shook his head, “No, Domina.”

“If not to me, do you have anything to report to my brother?”

“No, Domina.” He was not about to say yes and put Scott’s life in the firing line because of it.

She sighed, heavy and put upon, finally putting down her quill. “If only I could believe that. You will gain my trust in time, Stiles, but before that can happen I require your trust in me.”

Stiles did not say anything. He knew that if he gave his honest opinion, it would not go down well.

Kate smiled, but it did not reach her eyes, “Stiles. I have a duty I wish for you to perform, and if you do it without a mishap, I will consider letting you visit Scott again.”

Stiles nodded. He was eager to see Scott but apprehensive to what the duty might entail.

Kate looked pleased. “There is a tournament tomorrow. I am taking you as one of my two hand-servants so that you can learn what is expected of you. My brother and niece will be there, and will inevitably ask after you. I trust that you will have nought but a glowing report of your two weeks here.”

The very last thing Stiles wanted to do was watch Weres rip each other apart, particularly with Scott’s first full moon only a couple of weeks away. But out loud he said, “Of course, Domina.”

“You will need a longer sleeved shirt.” She looked pointedly down at the scabs on Stiles’ arm. “To hide that mess.”

Stiles clenched his jaw. She spoke about it like she wasn’t the one that had inflicted it. “Yes, Domina,” He said. Because that was what she expected of him.

***

Allison Argent was having a particularly terrible day.

She had been persuaded by her father and mother to attend the _New Moon_ tournament at the arena with them, but she had not wanted to. Not at all.

Because every wolf that she saw fight on the sands - _die_ on the sands - that day, she imagined was Scott. She could not help it. She had seen hundreds of fights in her lifetime, and, before Scott had been bitten, had been at a point where she was largely unaffected by them. Now it was different.

Scott wasn’t even at the arena that day, and might not ever have to fight if his first full moon proved unsuccessful, but trying to convince herself of that was difficult, particularly knowing how stubborn her Aunt could be.

She had not even been allowed to properly say goodbye to him before he had been taken away. She had not been able to cuddle him, hold him, kiss him and tell him everything was going to be alright. Firstly, because if anyone knew that Allison had kissed Scott plenty of times in the past, silent and secret in stolen moments, and more than that besides, the bite would be the least of Scott’s problems, but secondly, because it wasn’t actually going to be alright.

She glanced over at her Aunt. Kate’s eyes were riveted on the fight below, and every so often she would comment on the fighters to Allison’s father. Kate only had a couple of her own fighters in matches that day. She was scoping out new talent as potential competitors against her own Gladiators, ready for the more prestigious _Full Moon_ and _Lunar Eclipse_ tournaments later in the year.

There were twelve major tournaments in the main arena in a year. One each month. It started with the _Wolf Moon_ in the first month, followed by the _Snow Moon_ , _New Moon_ , _Crescent Moon_ , _First Quarter_ , _Gibbous Games_ , _Full Moon_ , _Last Quarter_ , _Harvest Moon_ , _Hunter’s Moon_ and _Blue Moon_ tournaments, before the all pomp-and-circumstance _Lunar Eclipse_ tournament to round off the year. There were minor tournaments in between the major ones, such as the _Worm Moon_ that month, and the _Blood Moon_ later in the year, but her Aunt only really had interest in the major twelve. The other tournaments were for Gladiators from Ludus’ far less prestigious than hers. Each tournament had its own theme, its own draws for the crowds, and different kinds of entertainments, weapons, stakes and fights.

The _New Moon_ tournament that they were attending was not the most popular of the twelve major tournaments, as it was earlier in the year and hosted fights for newer Gladiators of the champion Ludus’. Allison was just thankful that Scott was such a new Were that he could not be on the sands that day.

Allison let her eyes travel back to behind Kate, to Stiles, who was standing beside Lydia, another of her Aunt’s slaves. Stiles was sickly pale, his eyes staring distantly at the sands, like he had seen too much of it and was now seeing nothing at all. It was terrible, seeing him looking like that, clearly imagining the same things that she was, and she wondered if she looked as pale as he did.

She let herself become distracted by Stiles, so to more easily ignore the cheers of the crowd, the baying for blood, and the snarls of the Weres down on the sand. It was strange seeing Stiles wearing such a revealing outfit. She had never seen that much of his skin before; the shirt he wore was mostly open at the front, but it had long sleeves that reached nearly to his wrists. His hair had been cut very short as well, even Allison’s parents had seemed taken aback when they had seen him. It made him look his sixteen years, and his full lips and large dark eyes were even more pronounced and delicate looking. Allison supposed her Aunt was rather pleased with her new slave. Her Aunt liked to collect pretty things, she noted with ill-contained disgust. Allison considered Stiles a friend that society would not allow her to name as such, just as Scott was more than a friend that she would be forbidden to name as such. Stiles was an attractive young man, and no doubt Kate was going to enjoy displaying him in a way Allison’s parents never had.

Stiles must have felt her gaze on him, because he blinked away from wherever he had spaced out to, and looked back at her.

Allison frowned in concern and mouthed ‘Are you alright?’ at him. She did not just mean now. She meant living in a new home. She meant having to help Scott through this as Scott’s only source of familiarity. She meant living as a slave to her Aunt. This moment had been the only one the pair of them had shared out of the attention of Allison’s family. Her question didn’t feel like it was enough, but it had to be enough.

Stiles’ eyes darted towards Kate to check she wasn’t watching, before they returned to Allison again. He was skittish, and Allison realised that he was worried. He was worried he would get caught. That was not like the Stiles she knew; the one that would stand up for himself and cheekily skirt around the rules. He nodded at her, an abrupt thing that was not genuine.

She wanted to stand up and wrap him up in a hug, and she would, if it was only her punishment that she would have to deal with. She would not do that to Stiles, and put him in that position. Allison gripped the arms of her chair tighter, but she sent Stiles the most reassuring smile she could muster. His lips twitched into a fleeting but honest smile at her, and he nodded again, a little surer, wanting her to know he had it under control. She hoped he was right.

 

***

 

Stiles tapped repeatedly on the table in front of him with the handle of the ladle in his hand. Scott was supposed to be here for his lunch. Even the stragglers from the sands; the lowest in the Gladiator hierarchy, had been and gone from the food table, and yet there had been no sign of Scott. Kate had allowed him visitor’s time after serving lunch, as reward for him serving her at the tournament the previous day.

It had been an awful day, watching the bloody fights, seeing Chris Argent’s family and feeling that pang of want to be back with them and to be safe again. The only ray of sunlight had been Allison, and her obvious concern for Stiles and Scott. God, but he missed her, and he missed being able to speak to her openly and honestly. But he couldn’t with Kate there, and so he and Allison had had to make do with glances and mouthed half-conversations.

Stiles had gotten through it all with the thought of being able to visit Scott for his good behaviour. He had earned this visit. But lunchtime visits were a limited time slot, and Stiles was watching that time slot slip away with every second that Scott did not turn up at the table.

A tanned hand landed on his own, stalling the incessant tapping of his elsewhere attention.

“Stiles,” Danny said to him, prising the ladle from his hand. “He will be here, don’t worry. Derek and Peter Hale haven’t come for dinner yet, either. They will just be training still, that’s all.”

“Yes, well,” Stiles said, agitated, and tapping the table with his fingers now that he did not have the ladle. “They had better hurry up.”

Danny sent him one of his kind, lopsided smiles. “He will be here, Stiles,” He said again.

“Yeah I know,” Stiles sighed, sending him a guilty sideways glance, “You go and see Jackson. Don’t worry about me.”

Danny nodded in thanks, and gathered up his lunch, heading towards where Jackson was sitting on his own, far apart from the other Gladiators in the room. It was apparent that not many of the Gladiators sat together, and when they did, they argued and sniped at each other. The biggest group of Gladiators that ever seemed to sit together for enjoyment of each other’s company was the group of three consisting of Erica, Boyd and Isaac.

It amazed Stiles how Danny seemed to have the respect of the Gladiators, and was able to walk amongst their tables without a single insulting comment thrown his way. Maybe it was because he was the one who most often delivered their meals to them. Stiles wasn’t sure. What he was sure of, though, was that he himself had made an appalling start at gaining respect from them; threatening Smith and his friend with a spoon, for crying out loud. Saying that, though, Erica had winked at him when he had served her her lunch, Boyd had smirked at him, and Isaac had offered a tiny, amused smile. Jackson had haughtily asked Stiles if he was going to attempt to fight in the big leagues again, and Stiles had flicked some bread at him, and it had been up to Danny to talk Jackson down before Jackson could put his suddenly curled fists to use. Yes, Stiles had been told to behave. But he wasn’t going to put up with jackasses. Smith and the other Wolves like him had ignored Stiles as though he was non-existent. Stiles was mostly glad of that. He didn’t want to be drawing much more attention to himself.

But then again, Scott still hadn’t turned up.

“Matt?” Stiles asked.

“Yeah?” Matt answered, stirring the stew with the dedication of a loving chef. It was oddly endearing, the obsessive pride Matt took in his work.

“Can you handle the table for a moment?”

“Why?” Matt’s head shot up from the pot in front of him and he scanned the room. “Scott’s not here yet.” His suspicious gaze then landed on Stiles. “What are you doing, Stiles?”

Stiles was already edging out from behind the table. “I’m going to go and look for Scott.”

“No you are not,” Matt scolded, grabbing Stiles’ wrist and dragging him back behind the table. “You are going to get yourself in a whole world of trouble again if you do. House slaves can’t just go _wandering_ around the Ludus. The Domina would be most displeased with you. And she will stop you from seeing Scott.” Matt poked him in the shoulder, “Again.”

Stiles knew Matt was only looking out for him, but the poking and the ordering about was slightly irritating. Stiles knocked Matt’s hand away as it went to prod him again, “Alright, alright, I get it! Ok!” He threw up his hands in surrender, “I will stay here scooping out the stew until the Majesties Hale deem it is time Scott can finally see his friend…”

A throat clearing behind him had him whipping around.

Behind him stood Scott, and behind Scott, stood Derek and Peter Hale.

“You must be Stiles,” Peter Hale said with a smirk. His voice was disconcertingly soft for a man who had apparently cheated death more times than some of the gods themselves, and could snap a neck without breaking a sweat.

“Oh gods,” Stiles blurted out loud, clapping a hand over his mouth.

“Hey Stiles,” Scott said, looking like he wanted to laugh but not daring to.

“Scott,” Stiles greeted, wishing the sandy ground of the dining hall would just open up and swallow him. He let his eyes pass back over the smirking face of Peter Hale, and up to the permanent-frown of Derek Hale. “Err…” He started, before closing his mouth again.

“Stiles,” Scott hinted, “Don’t you think it’s time we got some food?”

“Yes, Stiles,” Derek said, his face composed and as unreadable as ever, “We wouldn’t want to keep you any longer.”

“Err...yes. Sorry…” Stiles flailed, helping Matt dish out three portions and handing them over.

“I am pleased to hear that you think of us as royalty, Stiles,” Peter commented as he accepted his wooden plate and bowl, “I must say it is rather flattering. I knew that you must be the clever one out of you and Scott.” He winked, and sauntered off.

Stiles gaped after him for a moment, before another clearance of a throat had him turning back to Derek Hale again, “Sorry,” He apologised again, handing over Derek’s food, “Look, about that, when I said ‘majesties’ I didn’t mean that…”

Derek honest to gods rolled his eyes at him. “Shut up, Stiles.”

Stiles threw his hands up for a second time, but for Derek The-Undefeated-Alpha Hale this time. “Done and done, Sour Wolf,” He said hurriedly, before cursing his stupid mouth once again.

Derek’s eyebrows had shot up into his hairline.

“Stiles,” Scott muttered warningly and began to drag Stiles to the nearest table. “You really need to learn to think about what you say before you say it, sometimes.”

“Don’t I know it,” Stiles replied, glancing back at Derek Hale to find him staring after him. Stiles managed a half-shrug, mimicking the one Derek had given him during their last interaction, and let Scott tug him to the table.

“Why do you do that?” Scott asked exasperatedly once they had sat down. “Why is it that you have decided that you need to provoke the most famous Gladiator in the country?”

“You know I can’t help it,” Stiles argued. “He makes me nervous.” He glanced over his shoulder again, looking for Derek, but the Gladiator had gone to join his uncle. He remembered how Derek had slammed him up against the wall nearly a week ago, and swallowed hard. He was intimidated by Derek, yes, but it also didn’t help that the Were was freakishly attractive. It made Stiles’ brain-to-mouth filter even more confused. “Right,” Stiles said, determined to ignore Derek Hale for the rest of the day and focus on the limited time he had with Scott. “No more mention of Peter or Derek. Especially Derek. Who still scares me.”

Scott rolled his eyes at him, but grinned and broke a roll of bread in half for them to share. “So, what news?” He frowned, “It's been ages since I’ve seen you. Has Kate been good to you? I hope she wasn’t too angry about what happened down here last week.”

Stiles purposefully bypassed any mention of Kate. He picked the piece of information Scott would most want to hear. He kept his voice low and made sure nobody was listening in. “I saw Allison yesterday.”

Scott perked up immediately, like a little puppy that had heard its owner’s voice. “Allison?” Scott asked excitedly, “Of course! She'll have been at the tournament? How is she?”

“She’s alright. She’s worried about you though. She misses you.”

“And I bet she misses you too,” Scott added, ever the thoughtful friend despite his ridiculous all-consuming teenage crush on their former mistress.

“Only a little bit,” Stiles shrugged.

Scott smiled softly at him before admitting, “I miss her.”

Stiles reached out to pat Scott’s hand. “I know you do, buddy. She looked lovely, by the way.”

“Of course she did,” Scott said, as though the thought of Allison being anything otherwise was absurd.

The reminder of the tournament the day before had Stiles’ stomach turning again. “How is training going?” He asked, “The next full moon isn’t far away.”

“I thought we weren’t going to talk about Peter and Derek?” Scott grinned, but it was a nervous grin, “It’s going ok, I think. I am scared for the full moon, though. Apparently I will have very little control over myself or over my instincts for the first shift. But they are helping me. They are strict, and I am a little afraid of the both of them too, but they are helping me.” Scott ducked his head, “That’s all I can really ask for.”

Stiles wondered if anybody had been looking out for Scott outside of the training area, like Matt, Danny, Lydia and Kira had been looking out for him. “You aren’t getting a hard time off Smith or anybody?”

Scott shrugged, “They have tried. But they know because I am a new bitten Were they can’t bully me without incurring the wrath of the trainers. Once I am actually a Were, or a Gladiator, and away from Peter and Derek’s charge, that might change.” Scott glanced sideways and clutched his bread a little tighter. “Smith is glaring at us right now.”

It was far from coincidental, that that was the precise moment that Erica, Boyd and Isaac decided to make their appearance, moving with their half-finished lunches from their table to sit beside Stiles and Scott.

“Alright, new meat,” Erica bared her teeth in a grin. “Are you two going to start picking fights again?”

“Is that why you have moved over here?” Stiles sniped back, “You want a front row seat?”

“Too right. Last week was priceless. I’m ready for round two.”

“I’ve retired from fighting,” Stiles said, “It’s not my thing.”

“Shame. You seem like a scrapper to me.” She winked at him. “And what about you Scotty? Are you going to be a scrapper?”

“He’s going to be a winner,” Isaac said, sounding determined of the fact. “Aren’t you Scott?”

“I guess.”

“Hey,” Erica nudged Scott’s leg under the table, bashing into Stiles’ along the way, “As long as you have Derek Hale on your side, you’ve got nothing to sweat.”

Scott laughed incredulously, “He isn’t on my side.”

“Isn’t he?” Erica cocked her head to the side, disbelieving. She looked at Boyd, “What do you reckon, babe?”

Boyd shrugged. He ripped his own bread roll in half and handed the other half to Scott, “Keep up your strength, newbie.”

Scott smiled gratefully at him, and took it. It was like a peace offering.

Scott had just secured himself his first true allies.

***

Another week passed. Stiles got to spend two lunchtimes in the company of Scott, Isaac, Boyd and Erica. The three Weres would allow Stiles and Scott a few minutes of privacy to catch up, before joining them at the table. Those lunches were highlights of an otherwise uneventful week. He obeyed Kate to the letter, and she had no reason to be displeased with him. He got on with his chores, and spent some time getting to know his fellow house slaves a little better. Lydia, Danny, Matt and Kira all seemed incredibly relieved that Stiles’ self-destructive streak had died out so quickly. He didn’t think they were aware that it still took all of his will to suppress his temper and his instinct to defend himself every single time he was provoked.

As it happened, Stiles did still openly maintain a bit of that self-destructive streak, and that was during his numerous encounters with Derek Hale. He honestly did not seek Derek out every time Derek entered the house; they just found themselves crossing paths, much to Derek’s chagrin, and Stiles’ delight. Because encounters with Derek were quickly becoming another highlight in Stiles’ life.

Stiles was still scared of Derek, and he would have been a fool not to be. The man was fighter. Dangerous. A great warrior. Stiles had not seen him in the arena, but had seen him on the training sands, and had heard the stories of legendary fights. He knew he should treat the man with respect, but he had come to learn that Derek was quick-minded, and surprisingly quick-witted, and Stiles hoped that one day soon Derek’s utter exasperation of Stiles would outweigh his need to scare him.

And so Stiles had made it his mission to make Derek smile. Firstly because he had never seen Derek do it, and surely the Sour Wolf couldn’t constantly be sour? But secondly, because Stiles just knew it would look obscenely attractive on the man’s face, and Stiles was selfish and wanted to see it. It was an odd challenge to make with himself, particularly because any encounter balanced on a razor thin line between Derek potentially conjuring a smile or Derek following through with his threats of bodily harm. It was a fifty-fifty chance when it came down to it, and any sensible man in his situation would just leave Derek alone, and incur none of his wrath. Unfortunately, Stiles was not a sensible man, and liked to push his luck. He also sort of wanted Derek to like him, rather than find him an irritation, but Stiles supposed with his approach to any social situation, Derek would probably end up liking him and finding him irritating in equal measure. As was life.

“Hey Derek,” Stiles said brightly on one of the occasions that he caught Derek leaving Kate’s rooms.

Derek sent him a look, but did not stop walking back towards the Ludus.

“Nice to see you too, Derek,” Stiles called after him.

“Hello Derek,” Stiles said, on one of the two occasions he had been down in the Ludus dining hall for lunch, as he had handed over the plate of meat and vegetables.

“Stiles,” was all that was said before Derek turned away. Stiles counted that one word and its tone of poorly veiled amusement as a small victory.

A little later that lunchtime, Stiles had been grinning at something Erica had said, pleased that Scott seemed to have made friends with the three Weres that now joined them for lunch. He had accidentally made eye contact with Derek whilst he was still smiling. Derek’s gaze had lingered on Stiles, and Stiles had been frozen for a second or two, but then Derek turned back to his uncle and so Stiles had continued the conversation he had been having, without anybody noticing the fleeting moment between him and the _Undefeated Alpha._

“Hey Sour Wolf,” Stiles said another time, as he had casually passed Derek leaving Kate’s rooms.

Derek’s steps actually faltered. “I’m sorry?” Derek was glaring at him, as though waiting for Stiles to dare to try and call him ‘Sour Wolf’ again.

“No need to apologise,” Stiles winked at him.

Derek blinked at him, frozen to the spot for a second, before Stiles thought he saw the corner of Derek’s mouth twitch. It only happened for the briefest millisecond, but Stiles swore he saw the tiny beginnings of a smile on Derek’s face. Derek had walked away before Stiles could say any more, but it had put Stiles in a good mood for the rest of the day.

That night, as he sat peeling potatoes for the stew Matt was going to prepare for the next day, he decided to ask Lydia and Kira a question that had been bothering him since his arrival.

“Why does Derek get to walk around the house?” He asked.

Lydia looked up at him, surprised, and Kira suddenly became very focused on the potato in her hand.

“What?” Lydia asked.

“Derek,” Stiles said, “I haven’t seen any other Gladiator walking around the house, except Peter once, under guard.” Peter had smirked at him and winked as he had passed; closely flanked by two heavily armed guards. Stiles shrugged, “I was just wondering how come Derek gets to walk around without any guard and into Kate’s rooms unattended? How come she trusts him? And what is it that they discuss so often?”

Kira glanced up at him, giving him a look that Stiles could only describe as embarrassed.

“What?” Stiles asked her, before looking to Lydia for answers.

“You mean you honestly don’t know?”

“What?” He asked again.

“Stiles,” Kira said slowly, “Kate doesn’t call Derek to her rooms to talk to him.”

Stiles looked at her in confusion for a moment, before realisation smacked him so hard in the face he felt a little queasy and more than a little embarrassed himself. “You don’t mean…but…Kate hates Weres.”

“She despises Weres,” Lydia agreed, her expression and tone grim, “She hates them, but she is envious and curious of their power. And she likes to feel like she has control of something so powerful. Why do you think she enjoys being the Domina of the Ludus so much? And how better to feel like she has control over such powerful creatures, by asserting her power over the best of them? Derek is her favourite Gladiator in more ways than one.”

Stiles suddenly felt sick. He thought back to all those encounters with Derek in the hallways. Derek had just come from Kate’s rooms. From Kate’s bed. His skin prickled uncomfortably, “But why would Derek consent to it?”

“Derek does what he has to. What he is told to.” Lydia told him, and suddenly her hand was there, squeezing his wrist. “She has a hold over all of us, in one way or another. Just like Scott is your weakness, she knows all of Derek’s.”

Stiles suddenly felt sick. Bile burned the back of his throat.

Stiles clutched Lydia’s hand tighter, and Kira’s hand joined theirs too.

They sat in silence.

 

***

Derek circled the room for a third time, his eyes fixed on Scott.

“Focus, Scott,” Derek told him.

He nodded at one of the guards that was monitoring their morning session. The guard stepped forward and used the key trusted to them by Kate to unlock the collar around Scott’s neck.

Scott winced as the collar came away from his skin, and Derek could see the scorched mark circling Scott’s throat already beginning its healing process the second that the collar was opened. That was a good sign. Scott clearly possessed the power of a quick healer; the time could differ among Weres, and healing time was crucial to a fighter. Derek glanced at his uncle and nodded.

Peter started to instruct Scott, telling him to extend his claws, and then his fangs. It was a test of Scott’s control, to see if he could command his powers.

Scott had mastered the sessions more and more each time he had done them, and the new Were was showing promise. Whilst that was satisfactory in terms of the knowledge that Scott had the makings of a great Were, and that their training had been successful, it also pretty much guaranteed that the first full moon would go without a hitch, and that meant that Scott would be made a Gladiator immediately.

It was torturing, to know that the young man that he was training could be dead in a matter of weeks. But, because Scott’s training was in Derek’s hands, Derek was determined to do everything he could to ensure Scott’s survival. He would train him in his control. He would train him as a Gladiator. He would do everything he could to not lose another Were to the sands.

“Ok, Scott,” Derek said, “That was good. Very good. They are going to put the collar back on you now.”

Scott’s yellow eyes faded back to their soft brown, and his claws and fangs retracted. Derek felt his inner-Alpha grin a little when Scott turned to him, as though seeking his approval, his eyes big and puppy-wide, and his smile wide and triumphant.

Derek allowed a small smile in return, and nodded.

The collar snapped back around Scott’s neck. Scott winced as it closed and immediately started to burn his flesh again. Derek knew that feeling all too well, but he also knew from experience that Scott would grow accustomed to it eventually.

Peter clapped Scott on the shoulder, “That was good, Scott,” Peter praised, and Derek knew Peter’s wolf was probably feeling the same pride that Derek was. Born Weres teaching new Weres had been practiced in the times of free-Weres. Even Derek in his youth, before the Hale family had been discovered, had been taught by his mother and father and Peter and Laura about how to control his wolf. Even though Ludus training was demeaning and cruel in circumstance, the pride that Derek felt when a new Were or Gladiator mastered their skills and power made him wonder how it had felt for his elders, able to teach in freedom, with full access to all their powers.

He wished he could experience it.

He knew he never would.

He remembered his family, and the house in which he had grown up. He had spent the first fifteen years of his life in that house, loved and cared for, in a big family pack, all under one roof. They had hidden their identity as born Weres, and they had gotten away with it for generations. They were finally caught out two weeks after Derek’s fifteenth birthday. He remembered the pack unit, and how it worked; his mother was the Alpha, and everyone else were Betas, the way that a traditional pack should be.

Were slavery, and the type of system that a Ludus created, ruined any semblance, any chance, of a normal traditional pack.

When Derek’s mother had died, Laura became the Alpha of the Hale pack, but there was no Hale pack left to be the Alpha of. When Peter and Derek had been bought by Gerard Argent to become Gladiators in his Ludus seven years ago, they had both been Betas. But once they had become the champions of Beta battles, they were both pitted against Alphas. They had both had to kill those opponent Alphas. When a Beta killed an Alpha, they became an Alpha themselves. And so Peter and Derek had both found themselves becoming Alphas. This had also happened to several other Weres in the Ludus, which meant that there was no pack. It meant that there were a number of Alphas and a gathering of Betas, and there was no real connection between any of them. None of the Weres had been turned by another Were in the Ludus so had no maker-loyalty, and none of the fighting Betas wanted to be under the authority an Alpha. The only reason the Alphas lived mostly-harmoniously amongst each other was due to the collars, which suppressed both their Alpha powers and their Alpha urges to have a pack, and not be threatened by rivals. This also meant that Alphas could not assert authority over any of the Betas. They were brothers and sisters on the sands and they were united in their respect for each other and their shared situation, but they were not a pack. They would not fight for each other or die for each other. Every Were fought for themselves. And every Were lived or died on their own.

Derek came back to himself, and realised his smile had dropped into a frown. Scott was looking at him expectantly. Peter was watching him with his usual all-knowing stare.

“Good, Scott,” Derek repeated again. He reached up and rubbed the back of his own head, scrubbing his hand through his hair. “Peter, do you think we should stop for the day?”

Peter grinned, “I don’t see why not. We both have the arena to train for, after all,” Peter looked at Scott, “You have done well today, kid. Run along.”

Scott nodded, thanked them and left.

Derek watched the guards follow, no doubt taking the key to the collar back to Kate, and then he was on his own in the room with Peter, and his uncle’s scrutinising stare.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Peter smirked.

Derek scoffed. “Like you would part with money.”

“Can you blame me?” Peter gasped, faux-affronted, “That shit’s going to buy my freedom.”

Derek rolled his eyes, “Yeah, maybe in another twenty years.” He started for the door.

“Actually,” Peter sidestepped and blocked Derek’s way out. “Between the two of us, we really aren’t doing that badly.”

Derek knew this. He also knew that Kate would never allow the pair of them to make enough to buy their freedoms. Something would happen – an ‘unexpected’ robbery, or an impossible fight – something, anything, so long that they would never be able to afford their freedom. He had heard of other Gladiators earning enough to buy their freedom from other Ludus’, but no Were had ever bought their freedom from the Argent’s _Lupus Ludus_.

He sighed, defeated, “Kate wouldn’t allow us to leave. Besides, the only place my money is going is to securing Laura and Cora’s freedoms.”

Peter nodded, sharp, understanding. “Laura and Cora’s freedoms first,” Peter agreed. Peter could be a selfish and devious bastard at times, but his loyalty to the Hale pack and his family – what was left of it - was unwavering.

Laura and Cora had been bought as house slaves – an incredibly rare case – in the house of a man that lived somewhere in the South. It had been a deal struck between the Argents and this man so that they could mutually keep their four Weres in check. This meant that Kate knew exactly where his sisters were, but Kate would not tell him the name of the man who owned them, where his house was, which town, or even which province. But Derek was determined to find out.  He was determined to see his sisters free. He doubted Laura and Cora would know his precise whereabouts either, but he wondered if maybe they had heard of his and Peter’s statuses as successful Alpha Gladiators; the _Undefeated Alpha_ and the _Defeater of Death_. He hoped that they had. He hoped that they understood that he was fighting for them, that he was fighting for their freedom.

“Are we hitting the sands?” Peter asked.

“We had better,” Derek agreed.

It helped him release some of the tension in his bones, and helped him slow down the thoughts in his head; distract him from the memories and the hopelessness of the present, his out-of-reach hopes for the future. Training with the blunted weapons, working up a sweat and bantering with the other Gladiators kept his head on the sands and not in the clouds.

Jackson challenged him to a duel which lasted nearly an hour, hot in the sun. Jackson was an agile fighter, quick to sidestep and jab, and despite being a Beta, he was a good match for Derek. He knew Jackson had his sights on a Beta-Alpha fight in the near future, which would hopefully promote Jackson to the ranks of Alpha status. Derek couldn’t help but hope, for Jackson’s sake, that Kate would keep Jackson as a champion of the Beta class, because Alpha fights had higher stakes. Injuries made by an Alpha took longer to heal, and were much more painful. He would not wish that on anyone. He did not dare tell Jackson that however, because Jackson had a prove-you-wrong streak that was unswayable, and Derek had a reputation to uphold.

He was glad of the break when the lunch bell rang. Stiles wasn’t serving lunch that day. Derek was surprised to find himself feeling disappointed.

He sat beside Peter in the dining hall and watched with curiosity the little group sitting on a table to the left of the hall; Scott, Erica, Isaac and Boyd, laughing together, and looking, Derek thought with a tug of longing, like the fragile beginnings of a pack.

Late in the afternoon, when the sun was beginning to set and most of the Gladiators cleared from the sands, the call came from Kate.

Derek walked through the Ludus to the heavy barred gates. The guard on duty nodded to him and unlocked the gate, and Derek passed through silently, not meeting the guard’s eyes. He knew what they all must think of him, and he hated it. He climbed the stone steps. The house was quiet, as always, but Derek did not see a single house slave on his journey to Kate’s rooms. Not even Stiles, who had a habit of showing up when Derek was in the house. Again, Derek found himself feeling a little disappointed. Stiles had become a peculiar thorn in Derek’s side, peculiar, because it was a thorn Derek was becoming less and less inclined to try and remove.  

He paused for a moment outside of Kate’s lounge door, and laid his head against the wood for a moment, taking a breath and collecting himself, before he knocked.

“Enter,” Kate’s voice ordered through the door.

Derek stepped inside, because tonight would be just like any other night. “Good evening, Domina.”

Kate stood from the red chaise she had been reclining on and walked around it and toward him. “Derek,” She said, smiling at him fondly. The worst thing about all this was that it was, most of the time, genuine fondness on her face. “You are late.”

Actually, he had been prompt, as always. He frowned at her. “I came as soon as I received your message, Domina.”

Kate tilted her head and considered him, “You are late,” She repeated, deliberately slow. Because her word was law.

Derek ducked his gaze, making the move look guilty in order to stop it turning into a glare. “Sorry, Domina. It won’t happen again.”

“It won’t,” Kate said, and fingers pressed under his chin and raised his head. Her voice was slow and seductive, but it had no effect on him, not as it maybe once had, because he had been young and lost in his grief and she had twisted everything. His eyes had cleared very quickly. “Because my Gladiator does as he is told.”

“Yes, Domina,” Derek breathed.

Kate smiled at him and then kissed him, slow and probing, her hands moving to cup his jaw. Derek moved his hands to her waist and angled his head, and she made an approving, pleased sound, and carried on kissing him, nipping at his lips. Derek went with it, because he always went with it.

If he refused her, she could have Cora or Laura punished in his stead. He had learnt that lesson very quickly, the first time he had tried to refuse her.

Besides, having her trust like this meant that Derek had more opportunity than any to escape, and although Kate tested his trustworthiness often, he was always planning an escape. The only problem was, it wasn’t just himself he would want to get out. He would want to take the Gladiators and the house slaves with him, and that was a much harder plot to concoct. He knew that his escape would also end badly for Laura and Cora, but if he could reach them before a message from Kate could reach their Master… But he could not do that until he had learned their whereabouts, and that meant catching Kate off guard enough to let something slip. And Kate was rarely off guard, even in these moments. But one day he would catch her out. One day he would.

Kate’s hand was already working its way inside the leather pants Derek was wearing, and Derek breathed through the automatic tensing of his muscles, and groaned when he had to. He tipped her back on the chaise when he was supposed to. He grabbed her thighs and rucked up her dress like he was expected to. But he had to keep her interest, in case she grew bored and looked for pleasures elsewhere, and Derek was determined to be the only one ever to have to deal with this every day, he did not want another Gladiator to have to go through the same. So he would surprise her every now and again, he would fuck her at varying speeds and intensity, and she would clutch his hair so hard that it hurt, and she would mouth and bite down his throat and across his shoulders because she knew the collar would suppress the healing and he would bear the marks for a few hours at least.

He would say her name as he pulled out and came; ‘Kate’, or ‘Master’, or ‘Domina’, and she would moan, but he never meant it. He did not love her. Her desire for him grew from obsession and possession. He did not think she loved him. But she would sometimes say his name accidentally when she came.

Derek stayed with her in her bed afterwards for a little while, not because she wanted to cuddle, but because she thought it was the opportune time to learn about the happenings of the Ludus whilst she assumed he was off-guard. Meanwhile, Derek would do the exact same to her – gather his own intel - just far more subtly.

“I don’t like the time you have spent over training Scott,” She complained on this particular occasion. “You are more focused on Scott’s training than your own. You have the _Crescent Moon_ tournament next month, and the _First Quarter_ not long after that, and I do not think you are at your peak. You have been distracted by your tutoring and have been spending less time on the sands.”

“Scott requires guidance, Domina,” Derek argued, attempting to remain reasonable. “He is showing great progress.”

“If he has shown progress,” Kate said, eyeing him coldly, “You do not need to train him as much. He will survive his first full moon; I have little doubt over it, but I do doubt his potential as a Gladiator. I do not want you spending your time over a boy who will not likely live to see his next year. You are a valuable asset to this Ludus, Derek. I will not have you failing me for the sake of a whelp. Do you understand?”

Derek was now more determined than ever to make sure Scott was going to survive as a Gladiator. But to Kate he replied, “Yes, Domina.”

“Good. From today, you and Peter will only train Scott for two hours maximum a day. And that is it.”

“Yes, Domina.”

“Go back to the Ludus.”

Derek swung himself out of bed and got dressed in silence. “Good evening, Domina.”

He entered the corridor and closed his eyes as the cool air of the stone hallway hit his face. He took a deep, steadying breath, and then walked back toward the Ludus.

“Derek.”

The voice made him stop and his eyes found Stiles. The younger man was lingering in the hall by the top of the Ludus stairs. Derek assumed Stiles had been waiting for him, seeking him out for the first time, rather than bumping into him by accident.

Stiles was looking at him differently. Derek could not understand why, until it dawned on him that Stiles looked knowing now, rather than oblivious. Derek had suspected Stiles had not been aware why Derek was so often allowed in the house, and by looking at Stiles' current expression, that had apparently been the case. He braced himself for some pitying comment, like some that had been thrown his way once people had discovered what was going on.

But Stiles just smiled at him, “Goodnight, Sour Wolf.”

Derek scowled at him, as was expected of him, but as he turned to the stairs he said, “Goodnight, Stiles.”

He allowed himself to smile once he knew Stiles would not be able to see it. He made sure it dropped again by the time he reached the guard at the Ludus gate.

***

Stiles had not been able to sleep a wink. It was the full moon. Scott’s first full moon. He knew that all the Wolves of the _Lupus Ludus_ would be locked up in individual, unbreakable cells down below the house, with their collars removed and, for a night, their powers unleashed. The prospect could have been frightening, but it did not scare Stiles. He was afraid for Scott, but he was not afraid of what Scott would become. Weres were more human than most of the humans Stiles had ever met.

Chris and Allison had visited the previous day, and had brought Melissa with him. Melissa had been allowed to see Scott. Stiles had not been allowed to join them. Stiles had spoken to Chris and Allison and he had been grilled over Kate’s treatment of the pair of them, but Stiles knew Kate would find out anything he had said, so he did not say anything that Kate would not wish them to hear. He knew Allison was taking whatever he was saying with a pinch of salt, regardless.

He had hugged Melissa tight when he had seen her.

“Thank you,” She had whispered in his ear, running a loving hand over his short hair and pressing a kiss to his temple. “Thank you, Stiles.”

Stiles had hugged her tighter. He hadn’t wanted to let her go.

She had asked how he was, fretted over him and told him he looked ‘pale’. He promised her for the hundredth time that he would continue to look out for her son.

It was the full moon that night, and Stiles could do nothing for Scott. He could not look out for him. He felt useless. And so he lay awake and waited for the morning and news of Scott.

He thought he heard footsteps, for a moment, soft and quiet outside the room that he shared with Danny and Matt; small sleeping cots all squashed in together, but he dismissed the sound as his imagination. Lydia and Kira would be long asleep, and Kate was sleeping soundly, no doubt.

However, ten minutes later, the door was being opened and Stiles was being shaken by chilled hands.

“Stiles!” The figure hissed at him.

Stiles blinked and sat up immediately, “Lydia?” He hissed back.

“Yes,” She confirmed, tugging urgently at his wrist. “You have to come. Now.”

“Now?” He began to panic, “What is it? Is it Scott? Is he…”

“Shh!” Lydia hushed him, pointing at the sleeping Matt and Danny over Stiles’ shoulder. “Come with me.”

Stiles flung himself out of bed and allowed himself to be led out of the room and through the silent house. Lydia was clutching his wrist so hard her fingers were digging into his skin.

“What’s going on?” He whispered at her.

He saw her shake her head at him in the dark. It meant ‘not here’. Stiles did not ask any more questions. They were somewhat answered for him anyway, when the pair of them came to the top of the Ludus stairs. This had to be about Scott.

“Come on,” Lydia whispered, and pulled Stiles down the stairs.

Stiles’ heart spiked in terror to find a guard at the door, and started to back up immediately, but Lydia yanked him forward. “It’s alright,” She told him.

She nodded at the guard, and he nodded right back, his eyes following Stiles suspiciously. Stiles gaped back at him. He did not know many of the guard’s names, but he thought this one was called Bennett. Stiles was about to ask Lydia what the hell was going on, but then they stepped into the Ludus.

Stiles had imagined the Ludus at full moon. He had not quite imagined this. He had pictured changed _Wolves_ , pacing and trapped in their cells, howling for freedom. What he saw, was the majority of them still in human form, some changed, and all sitting around or standing in their cells, subdued and not in any panic, anger or need to fight at all.

He felt the need to berate himself for assuming that the Gladiators would be any more animalistic now than they ever were. They were warriors with a proud sense in their own control. And above all, they were people.

Because each Were was locked in a separate cell, Stiles and Lydia had a clear path through the centre of them. He did not dare look too long at any of them, and all of them appeared to ignore their presence. They only had to pass three cells on each side, before they came to what the problem was.

It was Scott.

Scott wasn’t changed, and he was hyperventilating, huddled against the far wall of his cell and drawing in shallow, stuttering breaths.

Stiles had seen Scott like this many times. His friend was an asthmatic, and it had sometimes been triggered by the hay kicked up in the Argent's stables. But the condition had been cured the moment Scott had been bitten, or so Stiles had thought. Scott had obviously scared himself into some kind of panic attack.

Immediately Stiles was crouching down to Scott’s eye-level.

It took Stiles a second to register that Derek was in the barred cell on one side of Scott, and Isaac on the other. Derek was watching Stiles intently, “I didn’t know what to do. He won’t listen to me,” Derek said by way of explanation.

Stiles nodded and curled his fingers around the bars.

“Don’t,” Derek warned him, but Stiles ignored him. Scott wasn’t going to hurt him.

“Scott,” He said softly, “Scott, hey, it’s me. Stiles.”

Scott raised panicked eyes and they locked on Stiles, “Stiles,” he gasped out, and his fingers clenched in the blanket underneath him.

“Hey buddy,” Stiles smiled encouragingly, “You're alright, Scott. It’s me, I’m here. And you’re fine. You just need to breath. I want you to breath with me.”

Scott’s hands moved, super quick, and landed around Stiles’ on the bars. Derek barked a warning, but there was no need. Scott’s hands did not change to claws, they just grasped Stiles’ hands through the bars like a lifeline.

“There you go, here we go buddy. Breath in,” Stiles lifted their hands a fraction, “And out…” and he lowered them again. He repeated with this with Scott a handful of times, before Scott’s face started to regain a little colour, and his breathing began to steady out.

“You’re alright, Scott. Jeez, I thought we were past this, didn’t you?” Stiles quipped as he continued the hand motions for Scott to follow. “What with you being a super strong Werewolf now and everything.”

“Yeah well, life sucks,” Scott mumbled miserably.

Stiles laughed, “Nah. Not that bad. You’ve got super cool powers, now. You should let the powers help you, not be afraid of them, like Derek and Peter have been teaching you to.”

“I know. I should have,” Scott glanced at Derek, embarrassed, and then back to Stiles again, “I was scared and it all got a bit…too much.”

“Don’t lie,” Stiles grinned, “You just wanted me to visit.”

Scott eventually smiled back, his chest moving at a much healthier pace, and his breath no longer rasping. “Thanks, Stiles.”

“It’s ok, buddy, and I tell you what, next time…” Stiles did not finish what he was going to say, because the eyes in front of him suddenly turned yellow. “Scott?”

“Stiles, move back,” Derek’s tone was sharp and commanding, and Stiles finally did as he was told, slipping his hands from Scott’s grasp a second before the claws extended from his fingers.

He felt Lydia grip his upper arm and pull him up and back a step. As Stiles stood, Scott did too, mirroring Stiles' movement. It was strange, seeing Scott transformed like this; it was a hairier, toothier version of his friend. But this was still his friend.

Stiles cocked his head to the side, and Scott did too. A second before Scott flung himself into the bars, his claws reaching out toward Stiles. Stiles stumbled backwards, “Woah, woah.”

“He won’t be himself,” Derek explained, his voice calm, “It’s the effect of the full moon, he won’t be able to control himself properly for a couple of moons.”

“Ok,” Stiles took a steadying breath, and he looked back to Scott and his yellow eyes, “They are some cool looking eyes you’ve got going on there, Scotty.”

At the sound of Stiles' voice, Scott’s arm dropped a little, and Scott appeared confused.

Stiles glanced at Derek, “So, are all your eyes yellow, then?” It might have been a stupid question to most who were familiar with Weres or regularly attended Gladiator fights, but Stiles was only just learning Were lore. 

“Not everybody’s,” A voice came from behind Stiles and Lydia and they spun to find Peter in the cell behind them. He had been standing silently, watching the show, and was leaning against the back wall of his cell, arms crossed over his chest, like he hadn’t a care in the world. “Beta's eyes are yellow. Some are blue, sometimes.” His eyes seemed to flick toward Derek and back again when he said that, “That’s a rarer case. And Alpha’s eyes are red.”

“Red?” Stiles repeated. He looked around at the cells he could see, but any of the _Wolves_ that were changed around him were all yellow-eyed.

“Red,” Peter confirmed, and when Stiles looked back at Peter, his eyes were glowing red.

Stiles felt Lydia’s hold on his arm tighten. Peter grinned at her, his mouth full of fangs.

“Peter, enough,” Derek scolded, and a second later, Peter was back to usual self.

“Like what you see, Lydia?” He asked with a wink, but Lydia just gave an exasperated huff and turned to Stiles.

“We should be getting back before we are missed,” She said, “It is risky there being two of us missing.”

Stiles knew she was right, but he could not help being preoccupied with his fascination of the _Wolves_.

“Just give me a minute,” He turned back to Scott, who was pacing now, but no longer attempting to reach them. Stiles glanced at Derek, “Will he be ok now?”

Derek nodded, “He will be fine. Isaac and I will keep him in line.”

Stiles looked at Isaac, whose eyes now glowed yellow, seemingly in response to Scott’s, but once Isaac had been addressed, he looked at Stiles and nodded.

“Thanks,” Stiles said, relieved, and he looked back to Derek. “So, _Undefeated Alpha_ , do your eyes glow red too?”

Derek rolled his eyes, which steadfastly remained their usual mix of hazel and green, “Not now, Stiles. You had best go back to bed.”

“Yes, Stiles,” Peter’s voice came again, “Let the monsters get on with howling at the moon, before the Domina finds out you are gone.”

Stiles frowned, “But you aren’t ‘monsters’.” He looked at Scott in his cage, his friend transformed in exterior but not changed, never changed. He glanced at Isaac and Derek and then back at Peter, who looked just as human as any human being could be. “You’re not abominations. There are abominations in this world,” He said, his mind helpfully supplying the image of Kate Argent, “But Weres aren’t.” He found himself looking at Derek once he had said his piece, and was surprised to find the Were staring at him, his eyes wide and, for the first time that Stiles had seen, almost vulnerable.

Stiles shook himself from the gaze before either he or Derek were caught doing it, and waved to Scott, so that Scott would pay attention to him, “I’ll see you soon, buddy. I love you, ok?” He turned to Lydia, “Let’s go.” He didn’t want her or any of the Weres getting into trouble because he had lingered too long.

Lydia nodded, tight lipped, and led Stiles away from Scott’s cage. Stiles walked back into the villa deep in thought; thinking about Scott and his change, about Peter, and about Derek. He almost did not notice Lydia tapping on the bars of Jackson’s cage as they passed it, in some kind of acknowledgement, before they left the Ludus, but he did, and he stored it away. Bennett, the guard at the gate, let them past again without a word, and they walked back up the stairs and slipped back into their rooms.

Danny and Matt were still sleeping soundly, totally unaware of what had taken place down in the Ludus below. Stiles climbed onto the low cot he called a bed, and pulled the blanket up over his head. He managed to find sleep eventually, but his mind was still down there in the Ludus, with the Weres in the full moon.

***

Stiles spent the next couple of days in fear of Kate learning that he and Lydia had been down in the Ludus without permission, and on the night of the full moon, no less. She had heard about Scott and Stiles squaring up to Smith in the dining hall, and so Stiles had been accepting of the fact that it was a matter of time for her next punishment for his misbehaviour. However, there was apparently some agreement between the Gladiators not to blow the whistle on each other, because although Stiles waited for the punishment from Kate to arrive, it never did.

Lydia had not seemed particularly afraid of Kate finding out; presumably because she had known that it would not happen. It had not missed Stiles’ attention that Lydia had obviously been into the Ludus without permission a number of times and most likely had been in there the night of the full moon before she had come to wake Stiles. Because how else would Derek have been able to send her to get Stiles when Scott needed help? How else did she have some agreement with Bennett that allowed her to go into the Ludus without Kate finding out? Stiles knew there was something Lydia was keeping from him, but he dare not ask her. He hoped she would trust to tell him in her own time.

Because Kate was apparently none the wiser about his little trip down into the Ludus at the full moon, Stiles was allowed to see Scott the next day in the dining hall. The _Wolves_ all treated him exactly the same as they always had done, although only a handful of them would have known he had ever been there at the full moon in the first place. The only differences Stiles noticed from the Weres that definitely had seen him that night, was that Jackson didn’t even attempt to mock him, just narrowed his eyes at him like he didn’t quite understand him, and that Derek looked at him differently. He looked at him like he understood who Stiles was, now. He looked at him like he had given up trying to be so sullen and intimidating, because he didn’t have to hide anything anymore. It looked like the beginnings of trust.

Stiles did not get much chance to speak to Derek that day, because Scott had suddenly been there, full of unnecessary apologies, which Stiles dismissed immediately for the chance of a hug.

“You are a brave son of a bitch, aren’t you Stiles?” Erica grinned at him as she, Boyd and Isaac joined them for lunch. “The boy that runs with the _Wolves_.”

“Brave, or just slightly insane,” Boyd added with a grin.

Stiles rolled his eyes, but grinned back, “I do not deny being both.”

“Stiles,” Scott said, still upset with himself, “I didn’t scare you did I? I have seen what I look like changed and I…”

Stiles cut him off, “You were _you_ , Scott. Just a tad more hairy and with a few more sharp edges, that’s all. Nothing to worry yourself about.”

“Actually,” Scott corrected, still looking crestfallen, “Kate has sent word down today for a report of how the change went. I am still alive and well, so chances are I will be made a Gladiator by the end of the week.”

Stiles frowned, “I will try and get word to Chris or Allison if I can, and see if they can do anything.”

“I don’t know if they will be able to,” Scott didn’t sound as defeated as he had about becoming a Gladiator as he had in the beginning, but it was clearly still daunting to him. Just the idea of it was horrifying to Stiles. The idea of ever having to watch any of the _Wolves_ he had come to know; Erica, Boyd, Isaac, Derek, even Peter and Jackson, fight in the arena had become a terrible prospect to him. “But,” Scott added encouragingly, as though it was Stiles who needed the most convincing, motioning to the three _Wolves_ around him, “These guys are victorious Gladiators. I am sure that I can be too, if it comes to that.”

“Of course you will, Scott,” Isaac said earnestly, “I think you have the potential to become one of the best.”

“We will train you up, Scotty, don’t you worry. We have faith in you,” Erica said, before looking pointedly at Stiles.

“And so do I,” He said, "Whatever happens, Scott. You have beaten the bite, you have dealt with your first full moon. You are a Were now, and a handsome one at that. You can beat anything.”

And he believed it too. He believed that Scott had the power to beat other Betas in the arena if he had to, and Scott had support from other Gladiators of the _Lupus Ludus_. The only thing that would really hold the power to defeat him in those early stages of the game would be the whims of Kate Argent.

 

***

Stiles was prepared for the next time he saw Derek Hale in the house. He had been hoping to bump into him for a couple of days now, but had seen no sign of him. He wanted to thank him for looking out for Scott. Derek had trained Scott, been concerned for him, and had sent for Stiles when he knew Scott had needed help on the full moon. Stiles was determined to thank Derek for all that he had done, damned the possibility of getting caught.

And if he also wanted an opportunity to spend a little time, no matter how brief, in Derek’s company? Well, there was no harm in it. He figured he could achieve both and allow himself to be a little selfish.

Finally, that opportunity arose. He had heard that Derek had entered the house, but waited until Derek left Kate’s rooms an hour or so later. He waited until Derek had walked down the corridor and entered the hall, before stepping out behind him.

“Hey Sour Wolf,” Stiles called after him.

Derek stopped dead and turned on his heel. He didn’t look particularly angry, so Stiles hoped that his stopping was because he actually wanted to talk to Stiles. Derek cocked his head slightly to the side, and his eyes narrowed a little, and it was far more endearing than it probably should have been, “This Sour Wolf thing has to stop.”

“It very well might. Because I think I might have found a cure,” Stiles said. He had been holding his hands behind his back, but now produced the wrapped bundle he had been keeping hidden away. He held it out to Derek.

Derek approached him, and cautiously plucked the bundle from Stiles’ hand. Stiles watched as Derek carefully unwrapped the bundle, and discovered the two small cakes inside. Kate often ordered plates of sweet cakes, which Stiles now knew how to make after guidance from Matt. And if he had kept two honey cakes to one side and had wrapped them up, she wouldn’t have to find out.

Derek’s green-hazel eyes took in the present in his hands, before his head jerked up and he stared at him. “Are you insane?”

Stiles grinned, “Lydia often tells me so. And Boyd did too the other day. If people keep calling me it I might actually start believing that I…”

He was interrupted when Derek shook his head and held them back out toward him, “You can’t give me these.”

Stiles clucked his tongue nervously, and glanced around them to make sure no-one had stumbled across them. Before he had given it much thought, he had gathered Derek’s hands back around the cakes and pushed them back towards Derek’s body. “Technically,” He said, glancing up at Derek, who was staring back down at him, “I am only giving you one. One is for you and the other is for Scott, if you don’t mind passing it on.”

“Are you suicidal?” Derek hissed, even as he wrapped the cakes back up and cupped them in his palms, “Kate would punish you if she found out about this.”

“She punishes me enough,” Stiles shrugged. He ignored the look that fell onto Derek’s face, which looked rather a lot like concern. Stiles nodded at the cakes, “I thought it might sweeten your sour mood.”

Derek looked down at the honey cakes again, before stowing them away in the pouch of the belt around his waist that held up the cloth and leather pants he was wearing. “She doesn’t let us have sweets like this,” Derek’s voice was quiet, and open.

“Well she doesn’t have to know,” Stiles said, his own voice low and conspiratorial, and traitorously betraying his fondness for a man he had only known for a month or so, “If we keep it between us.”

Derek looked at him again and his eyes held the same look he had given Stiles on the night of the full moon; the vulnerable look of a trapped young man. “I don’t remember the last time I had a honey cake.”

“Well, I hope you enjoy this one, because I made them.”

Derek glanced back at Kate’s rooms, before, Stiles was both delighted and triumphant to see, sending Stiles a small, genuine smile. “I will pass the other on to Scott.”

“Good man,” Stiles jovially pushed Derek’s shoulder, only to be hit with a 'did you just?' stare. Stiles raised his hands immediately with a sheepish smile, “Ok, still no touching. I get it.”

Derek smirked, before it broke into a big, smug smile with teeth that was ridiculously dashing and took Stiles’ breath away a little. Whilst Stiles attempted to compose himself, Derek turned to walk away.

“You should smile more, you know,” Stiles said at Derek’s retreating and incredibly muscular back.

Derek just made a waving motion with his hand in farewell, and left Stiles in the hall, feeling rather pleased with himself.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles’ birthday came two weeks following Scott’s first full moon as a Werewolf.

He did not know whether Kate knew when his birthday was, but it was rather an uncanny coincidence that the day that Stiles turned seventeen, Kate decided that Scott would have his initiation ceremony to become an official Gladiator of the _Lupus Ludus_.

There had been no dissuading Kate’s decision, though Stiles was sure that Allison tried. It had been a miracle that Stiles had persuaded the messenger to take the letter and that it had made its way safely to Allison’s hands in the first place. Stiles should not have expected more than one miracle. Stiles had watched Allison leave Kate’s study with her father, and she had met his eyes and shook her head, her eyes rimmed red and her mouth set in fury.

Kate had known, of course, how Allison had found out. Kate had come to the study door and seen Stiles watching.

“Stiles,” Her voice had been as cold as ice. “Come here. Now.”

Stiles had come, because what else could he have done? He could not have run. He could not have run after Allison and Chris and beg for them to defend him, because they would have taken him away from Kate, and as much as that prospect would have been welcome at that moment, they would also have had to take him away from Scott. And Scott still needed him. And Stiles still needed Scott. And he had allies here now; there was Derek. Stiles had reasons to stay now, and he believed they were worth suffering Kate Argent for.

He had been given reason to doubt that belief when he had stood before her and she had seethed and backhanded him across the face with rings on her fingers. He had been given reason to doubt that belief when she had dug the heel of her sandal into the back of his hand when he attempted to get up from the floor, and the knee that met the underneath of his jaw at the same moment. When she had ordered his meals halved for three days, no visits to Scott until her say-so, and threatened to have him publicly flogged.

She had stood back, breathing heavily and glaring at Stiles like her state was all his fault, “I would have you flogged,” She had hissed out, seething, “But it would not do to do it now. Allison will come calling again, no doubt, and I have plans for you.” She had grasped his face and used the grip to raise him up so that he was back on his feet. Once he had been standing again, she had traced the cuts she had left on his split lip and cheek, “I need you pretty, for now,” She had said.

Stiles had gritted his teeth and had almost bared them at her, but he had thought better of it. He had ducked his head and let the tears that were threatening to spill, spill. “I am sorry, Domina.”

Kate had laughed at him and had lifted his face, “If you dare do this to me again, I will make sure you will be.”

And so there Stiles stood, two days later, his cheek and lip still tender, waiting to walk onto the sands for the first time, in order for the whole household to be present for Scott’s initiation.

Apparently it was tradition that the household was present at the initiation of every new batch of Gladiators, and even though Scott was the only Gladiator in need of initiation on this occasion, the ceremony was still going ahead. Lydia had warned Stiles what was to be expected of the initiation; a speech from Kate, and Scott accepted and branded as a Gladiator; branded with the mark of the Argent Ludus scorched permanently into the skin of his arm. Stiles did not dare to think of how painful that would be for Scott. He tried not to think about it also, because Lydia had also warned him that Kate often had her new house slaves branded and officially claimed into the household at the same time. It meant Stiles could have a permanent mark of his own by the time the day was done, and he knew it was more than likely going to happen, because Kate would not pass up the opportunity of seeing Stiles’ flesh being burnt by a piece of fire-heated iron.

***

Scott was standing between Isaac and Boyd, and shuffling anxiously. The Gladiators were all lined up on the sands, awaiting the appearance of the Domina and her house slaves. The newer Gladiators had been lined up in front of the more experienced ones, so he knew Derek and Peter were standing behind him, but that made him feel more nervous than supported.

He had been training as a Gladiator on the sands for two weeks, since the full moon, and Kate had decided he had done enough to prove himself a Gladiator of the _Lupus Ludus_. Stiles had been furious about it, possibly enough to have tried to do something about it, because he had not been down to the dining hall to visit Scott since the time Stiles had wondered if he could get a message to Allison and Chris. Scott assumed Stiles had been both successful, and unsuccessful in his mission. 

Kate had never intended to let Scott out of fighting, Scott knew that now, and Scott would not be surprised if Kate put him in risky fights with little chance of victory; Kate had not bartered for him at auction, she had not wanted him or paid a price for him, she had been given him free of charge. That made Scott worry that Kate saw him as dispensable; a Gladiator that could die on the sands and not make a dent in her purse or the reputation of the Argent Ludus. It would also remove him as an inconvenient cause of interference from Chris and Allison.

He supposed he would find out in a few weeks’ time when the _Crescent Moon_ tournament took place at the end of the month. It would be his first event, and would take place not long after his second full moon. But he had to get through the branding first. He knew the brand would hurt far more than the collar about his neck ever did; the brand was made to be permanent, and mixed with anti-Were ingredients to stop it healing properly and mark it black on the skin of the _Wolves_. Those ingredients would make the brand even more painful than it would have been anyway. He was not prepared for the pain, but all the _Wolves_ around him had a brand, and assumedly had not made a fool of themselves in receiving it, and so Scott was determined to be brave. He could not let Kate Argent see weakness in him, he wanted her to see that he could face whatever she intended to throw his way.

And there was more to worry about than just himself. He had heard that Stiles would likely be branded as a house slave as well. They had not been branded in Chris Argent’s house, though they would have been once they had turned eighteen, with a brand identical to the one his mother had - with the seal of the house of Lord Christopher Argent. Whilst under the age of eighteen, they had worn clasps on their arms that only Chris could remove, which acted as their 'brands' as his property. Chris would have branded them privately. Kate, on the other hand, appeared to like to make a spectacle – and a potentially humiliating one at that – at every given opportunity.

Eventually Kate came walking onto the sands, her head held high and her maroon dress stirring in the breeze. Behind her trailed the house slaves, and Scott spotted Stiles immediately, walking between Matt and Lydia. Kate stopped and turned to face the Gladiators and the house slaves came to a halt behind her, all turning to face the Gladiators too. Stiles lifted his gaze and met Scott’s eyes. Stiles offered a weak smile. Scott could not help but growl low in his throat at the sight of Stiles’ face; his best friend’s cheek and lip were slit by cuts that were definitely deliberate, like he had been hit. Scott could see the bluish skin around the cuts from where he stood.

“Scott,” Boyd growled at him in warning to stop.

Scott did, but it took great effort. The idea of Kate hurting Stiles whilst Scott could do nothing to protect him made him feel useless, and it made him feel guilty for being the reason Stiles was in Kate’s house in the first place. If only Scott had been more wary the night he had gotten bitten…

But there was no time to think on that now. Kate had started her speech, and Scott tried not to look at the hearth at the back wall of the sands that was being stirred up to a hot flame, two iron rods poking out of it.

Scott did not hear most of what Kate Argent was saying, but he was sure he had heard it all before; that Gladiators were brothers on the sands, that their brands marked them as a brotherhood from a Ludus of champions, and that they would continue to fight and be champions. Scott was too busy watching Stiles, who was staring right back, his gaze sometimes darting away from Scott; to Derek, Scott assumed. Scott had not been blind to the fact that there appeared to be some strange kind of rapport between Derek and Stiles, presumably having built during Derek’s trips to the house. Scott had been utterly surprised the day Derek had found him and pressed a wrapped honey cake into his hands, saying it was from Stiles. Derek had had the oddest look on his face, a little smile that he looked incapable of wiping off his face. It was a look Scott had not seen before or since. There was something going on between them, but Scott had not had the chance to see Stiles to ask him about it. And he would not dare bring it up with Derek.

“…And now you have a new brother. He has defeated the full moon, and I expect him to face his opponents on the sand with equal determination,” Kate was announcing, and Scott knew it was time for him to pay attention. “Scott,” Kate ordered him forward, and Scott had no choice but to break ranks and make his way towards Kate. “Turn around,” She said when he reached her, and Scott turned around to face the Gladiators in front of him.

“And, with your new brother, I received a new house slave,” Kate said, her voice faux-jovial, “And he has so far proved to be an interesting addition to my household. I would also like to claim him as my property.”

Scott did not turn to watch Kate regard Stiles, but when she said his name, Scott could hear the restrained satisfaction in her voice at inevitably irking Stiles with such an announcement.

Before Scott knew it, Stiles was beside him, arm pressed right up beside his.

He did not dare say anything, and Stiles didn’t either, but just having Stiles there beside him made Scott feel so much stronger. He had always felt more invincible when he was with Stiles.

Kate rounded them, and beckoned Deaton toward them. The Doctor came forward, looking solemn, with the first of the iron brands fresh from the fire. Scott could see it glowing red hot at the end and his stomach turned.

“Scott,” Kate ordered, “Extend your arm.”

So, this was it. Scott swallowed heavily, and held out his arm. The brand hit his skin, on the underside of his forearm just below the elbow. It took a second before the excruciating pain kicked in, and it shocked him. Scott slammed his eyes shut and bit his tongue till he tasted blood and allowed himself to scream inside his head. The urge to wrench his arm back was overwhelming, but Deaton held his arm tight to avoid the brand moving and burning anywhere else. The hot iron was only on Scott’s skin for a matter of moments, but it had done its job. The moment the iron was dropped to the sands, Deaton was smearing something onto the burn and Scott had to bite back a scream through his teeth, buckling over at the sting of it; at the concoction that was going to make sure the brand stayed permanent in his skin.

Scott felt shaky and nauseous, and that feeling intensified as he hazily had to observe the back of Stiles’ shirt being lifted up, and Stiles’ brand pressed into the skin of Stiles’ lower back. House slaves were decorative, so they all had their brands in less obvious places. Scott noted that unlike him, Stiles kept his eyes open. He glared at Kate for a moment, before his eyes had trailed off into the distance as the pain took hold, and only Scott probably noticed that Stiles was staring at Derek, and that Derek was staring straight back. Stiles’ jaw was clenched and his eyes watering at the feel of the brand on his skin. He did not scream, though he looked like he wanted to. Scott was fleetingly proud of him.

And like that, it was all over. Kate ordered the house slaves back inside and the Gladiators back to training. She instructed Scott and Stiles to follow Deaton to get cleaned up, and then that was it.

Scott and Stiles were branded; the official property of Kate Argent and her _Lupus Ludus_.

***

Stiles followed Deaton on stumbling legs that threatened to give way beneath him. He felt faint and sick and dizzy. But Scott was there, hovering at his elbow, and if Scott was feeling the same he wasn’t showing it. In fact, his best friend had his arms bracketing, but not touching Stiles, ready to catch him if he suddenly fell. He felt a surge of sorrow and love for his friend, but it lurched on him the same time his stomach did, and he did not dare voice anything aloud for fear of spewing everywhere.

The moment the door to the doctor’s surgery closed behind them Stiles tipped forward and gripped hard onto the examination table in the centre of the room.

“Fuck,” He spat out, his eyes squeezed shut, before letting go of the table and leaning against it with his hips, as his hands scrabbled to rip off the shirt that was sticking to the burn at the bottom of his back. He hissed the moment he tugged the material off the raw flesh and threw the shirt to the floor. He had to steady himself on the table again to stop himself from collapsing.

“Stiles,” Scott said quietly, his own voice betraying the pain he was in with his own brand, “How can I help?”

Stiles shook his head and then planted it on the table in front of him, “I just need to breath through it, buddy. How are you doing?”

“I feel like I want to claw the skin off my arm,” Scott said, sad and raw and Stiles’ heart clenched.

Stiles knew the exact feeling. His skin still felt like it was sizzling through. He grunted in confirmatory response.

A moment later there was a swift knock on the door, and before Deaton could even move to answer it or allow the person entry, Derek Hale had barged his way into the room and shut the door behind him.

“Derek,” Stiles acknowledged as casually as he could from where his head was still pressed to the table.

Derek frowned at him and then made his way towards Scott, “Are you alright?” He asked him.

Stiles watched Scott (from his sort of upside-down-view that was doing nothing to help his stomach but he dare not move for fear of keeling over) nod and stop cradling his arm to his chest so that Deaton could inspect it. Scott winced as Deaton moved his arm this way and that. “It burns,” Scott told him, “Though you will know how it feels.”

Derek nodded sharply, his own brand still stark and black on his arm from his own initiation, which must have been years ago.

“I’ll get used to it,” Scott told him, “I’ll have to start getting used to pain, now, won’t I?”

Stiles watched Derek reach out and squeeze Scott’s shoulder before Stiles had to shut his eyes as another wave of pain and dizziness overtook him.

The next thing he became aware of was a solid presence at his side, and a supportive hand on his bare hip. “Stiles?” Derek’s voice asked him, it sounded kind of distant and fuzzy.

“If you want to ask how I am, now is not a good time,” Stiles groaned. The room was starting to smell of burnt flesh. “Come back later.”

Derek did the exact opposite, because of course he would, and Stiles felt large hands clasp his upper arms and draw him upright. He was carefully turned around to face Derek and although Stiles pitched to one side, Derek’s strength held him up.

“Are you ok?” Derek asked him, clearly concerned. His eyes were darting over Stiles’ face. Derek’s eyes looked over the top of Stiles’ head to Deaton, “He looks too pale.”

“I was never good with this kind of stuff,” Stiles admitted, dismissing Derek’s concern.

“He can’t even watch horses get branded without getting queasy,” Scott informed Derek semi-helpfully (helpfully because it explained Stiles’ condition, unhelpfully because Scott was making him look like a wimp in front of the _Undefeated_ bloody _Alpha_ ), from where he was sitting having his arm salved by Deaton.

Derek inspected Stiles’ face, and his eyes came to rest on Stiles’ cheek and lower lip. He kept Stiles steady by wrapping one arm carefully around him, avoiding the brand entirely, and using his other hand to tilt Stiles’ face up into the light. He gave an unhappy cluck of his tongue, like some displeased mother hen. “What did you do to upset her?”

Stiles glared at him half-heartedly, “Why do you ask as though it was my fault?” He sighed, and self-consciously worried the split in his lip with his tongue. He wasn’t sure if he was still a little hazy, but it looked like Derek distractedly tracked the entire movement with his eyes. “I managed to contact Allison in the hopes she would get Scott out of…” he waved in the direction of Scott, “Of this. As you can see, I failed.” The arm waving was a bad idea; he swayed into Derek and found his face suddenly smushed into a solid pectoral.

“Ok, alright,” Derek murmured, not sounding at all cross about the fact that Stiles was currently touching a whole lot of him. “Let’s get you on the table.”

“I don’t need to,” Stiles argued, even as he allowed Derek to partially lift, and partially assist him, into lying on his front on the examination table.

It was strange, feeling Derek’s bare hands on his skin, and his careful touches on Stiles’ sides and the top of his back, skirting around the burn. Derek’s hands left suddenly, and Stiles only just managed to swallow down a sound of complaint, when a folded blanket was being placed under his cheek to make him more comfortable.

He squinted awkwardly up at the dark haired Gladiator, “I didn’t have you down as the nursing type, Hale.”

“I’m not,” Derek said bluntly, “Enjoy it while it lasts.”

Stiles was not sure if that was strictly true. Now he thought about it, he was pretty certain Derek was a secret mother-hen disguised in the physique of a fearless Gladiator. There was something both comforting and depressing about that.

“I’ve done pretty much all I can for this, Scott,” Deaton was saying to Scott, and Stiles turned his head to see Scott’s arm all bandaged up. His friend was looking a little less pale, and seemed to be watching Stiles and Derek’s interaction with some curiosity (Stiles had not told Scott the extent to which he and Derek had become sort-of-friends). Stiles then watched Scott’s gaze wander to the brand on Stiles’ back, and he visibly cringed.

“I am ok. Thank you,” Scott said to Deaton, “Please check on Stiles.”

“I’m fine,” Stiles told them, before Deaton approached with salve and bandages. The second Deaton touched the burn Stiles had to bury his head in the blanket and suppress a scream. “Ok, I lied,” He groaned, “Scott,” He called out, muffled and ragged, “Derek!” One of his hands was caught immediately in hands he knew to be Scott’s, and as the other flung back in an attempt to shoo Deaton the fuck away, his other hand was captured on the other side by larger hands. 

“Don’t touch it, Stiles,” Derek warned gently, and Stiles breathed out long and hard into the blanket beneath his face.

“I would make a shitty Gladiator wouldn’t I?” He choked out as Deaton began to smooth salve onto the burn.

“Just be glad you will never have to find out,” Derek told him. His thumb was soothing distractingly across the back of Stiles’ hand. Stiles felt Scott press his lips to Stiles’ knuckles.

It hurt like nothing else. But with Scott on one side and Derek on the other, Stiles knew he would cope. This was small fry. In a few weeks Stiles knew he would have to watch them both fight in the arena. He knew that that was going to be more painful than any brand would ever be.

***

 

It came around too quickly, Scott’s first fight in the arena. It was the eve before the _Crescent Moon_ and Stiles was still being punished by Kate. He was still banned from visits with Scott, and he had not seen Chris and Allison for him to complain about it (and he would have done, damned the consequences), and he had not been down into the Ludus or spoken to Scott properly since the day of their branding. He had not even been allowed to see Scott before or after his second full moon, and had had to hear from Danny and Matt that Scott was fine.

Stiles' brand was still healing. It was sore and still pink and raw. It meant that he was constantly aware of its presence. Scott’s werewolf healing – despite being muted by the collar – had meant that his should have healed fairly quickly. Stiles almost wished he had that kind of power to heal, but then, if he did, he would be joining Scott out on the sands the next day.

He had been on the balcony with Kate a few times as she had observed the Gladiators train for the upcoming event. He had seen Scott fight and learn combat, paired with Isaac against Erica and Boyd.

Scott’s first fight would be a doubles fight, and he would be in the arena with Isaac at his side. Stiles hoped that that would be a blessing, and that Isaac would help to keep Scott safe. But he was also concerned that Isaac and Scott would care more about each other’s safety than their own, which could be dangerous for the pair of them. He had wondered why Kate had made such a decision for Scott’s first fight, but then he had overheard her boasting to a visiting rival Ludus owner that had gotten her riled up, that her newest Gladiator would prove to be a champion. Maybe by pairing Scott with Isaac, Kate had thought Scott would have a better chance at victory on his first try.

Stiles hoped that would be the case.

He had been impressed by what he had seen Scott do in the limited training he had seen, but Stiles could not help but worry for his best friend. Stiles had also seen Derek training too, silent and focused, though sometimes he noticed Derek glance up at the balcony. He wondered what it would be like watching Derek’s first fight; finally seeing the _Undefeated Alpha_ in action. He had heard of Derek’s legendary battles, but he had never seen one, and maybe that was why he did not see Derek as a hero as some of the others did, and instead just saw him as another person forced to fight for his survival. He wondered if his opinion of Derek would change once he had seen him fight. He doubted it.

He would definitely be watching though, because Kate had chosen him, Lydia, Kira and Danny to serve the Argent family at the arena. Of course Kate would want him there to watch. He assumed it was a part of his continued punishment. Chris had brought Melissa to the Ludus that day to see Scott. Stiles had not been allowed to see either of them. He could have comforted Melissa, and told her of his faith in Scott, and he had wanted a hug in return more than anything else, but again his punishment denied him access to them.

It was like the night of Scott's first full moon (and truthfully, his second as well); Stiles could not sleep. He was too worried for Scott. All the what if scenarios for the arena the next day were spinning in Stiles’ troubled mind. It was, therefore, easy for him to hear the soft treads pass the door of the room, just as they had on the full moon. This time he did not dismiss it as his imagination, because he knew who it would be. He was out of bed in an instant, and moved silently towards the door, opening it and stepping out into the dark hallway.

“Lydia,” He hissed at the figure creeping down the hallway.

Lydia stopped dead and spun around, “Stiles.” She whispered, irritated, “What are you doing?”

“You’re going down to the Ludus, right?” Stiles insisted desperately, “Can I come with you? She hasn’t let me see Scott.”

“No. Stiles,” She snapped, her voice hushed and strict, “You can’t come with me.”

“But we went down there ok last time…”

“That was a one off,” Lydia cut him off, “Scott was in trouble. Bennett let it pass once. He won’t do it again.”

“Why?” Stiles asked, annoyed too now, confused by her secrets, “Why do you go down there?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, “It’s none of your business.”

“Then I’ll come with you, then.”

Lydia moved towards him, her feet padding quietly on the floor, but her arms were sure when she shoved him angrily, and glared up into his face, “If you come with me now, you will ruin any future chance of going down there. We can maybe organise something for you, but not tonight, not both of us. It takes time to win a guard round, and this has been Bennett’s first shift all week. It took me a long time to work for this, Stiles. Don’t ruin it for me.”

“Then tell me what it is that’s worth all that effort,” Stiles snapped, “Just tell me what it is you are risking everything for...”

“Jackson!” Lydia hissed abruptly, effectively shutting Stiles up. “I go down there to see Jackson,” She sighed, defeated, and pushed at Stiles’ chest a little more weakly, “I’m in love with him,” She admitted sadly, “I’ve been seeing him for months now.”

Stiles stared at her a moment, his mouth hung open. To be honest, it had not come as too much of a surprise. What amazed him was the guts and determination of the both of them to have been able to continue the affair for months.

“Well?” Lydia asked, half-exasperated and half-worried, her eyes searching Stiles’ face.

“Sorry,” Stiles apologised immediately, “I’m sorry. I’ll let you go,” He stepped back, “Say hi to Jackson, and if you see any of the others,” They both knew he mainly meant Scott. “Say hi to them too for me.”

Lydia’s lips pursed as she considered him a moment. “You won’t tell anybody will you?”

“Never,” Stiles promised. He meant it. “I would never betray you, Lydia, you’re my friend. And Jackson is…” He paused, unable to finish that sentence truthfully, “Erm…you’re my friend.”

Lydia huffed a laugh and rolled her eyes. She smiled at him, still a little uncertain, but genuine enough. “Goodnight Stiles.”

“Goodnight,” He replied, before retreating back into his room, watching Lydia fade like a ghost into the dark of the house and down into the Ludus.

***

Scott did not know quite how to feel, knowing that he might well die that day.

He did not know what the adrenaline that was coursing through him and the fluttering feeling in his stomach meant. He was anxious for the fight…but was it the fight, the possibility of death, or the crowds baying for both that was making him feel like tearing his hair out? He was afraid of dying, but he was so determined not to die, that the tense energy building up inside of him was surely a good thing? He wanted to be called to the sands as soon as possible to avoid this horrendous waiting and wondering how it might end; and he wanted that call never to come at all. He was torn. He was afraid. And most of all, he did not want to die.

He was seated on a wooden bench that ran down the length of one wall of the small holding cell, in which he and the _Wolves_ from the _Lupus Ludus_ that had been selected to battle in fights in the arena that day were being held, waiting for their fights. Scott’s knee was bouncing with unrestrained nerves and he could not halt it. Scott had survived his first full moon, and had not long since experienced his second. He just hoped he would survive his first arena fight, and the second that would come after. And all the tournaments after that. 

He glanced up at the _Wolves_ around him. Derek was there, and yet, he wasn’t; zoned out and staring at nothing at all with a single-minded focus, leaning rigidly against the wall opposite. Peter was pacing back and forth, muscles coiled and ready, muttering to himself. Jackson was there, repeatedly tapping at the metal bars, as he stood and looked out down the passage that would lead them one by one to the sands, psyching himself up. Scott assumed that this was how each of the Wolves had always prepared for the many number of fights that they had fought and won before. He wondered whether he would, if he survived long enough to, have his own routine, or if it would always feel this way; his stomach twisting, his hands tremoring, his knee bouncing and a cold sweat building on his back.

It was a small mercy, Scott supposed, that he would not be fighting his first fight alone. He was scheduled to fight a doubles-battle that day, paired with Isaac. For that he was grateful. Isaac was sitting next him, a calming presence pressed close to his side, but also in a world of his own as he focused on the fight before them. He knew Isaac would do what he could to keep Scott alive, and Scott was adamant to do the same. Isaac had become a good friend to him, and he hoped Isaac would survive this fight, even if he didn’t.

There were guards there with them, outside of the bars, all heavily armed with weapons, monitoring them all closely. One of them received a signal from the passage to the sands and he clanged the end of his spear against the bars.

“ _Gravedigger_ , Newbie…you are up next.”

Scott shot Isaac a questioning look, assuming that he was the ‘Newbie’, but had not heard the nickname _Gravedigger_ before. Isaac broke away from whatever place he had been zoned out to, and shot Scott a sheepish smile, “Long story,” He offered, “It came from my days in the fighting pits. I’ll tell you about it sometime, after the fight.”

“That a promise?” Scott offered a weak smile back, hoping he would get the chance to hear that story, as much as he was concerned to hear how Isaac had found himself scrapping in illegal fighting pits, which were less dignified, less rule-bound, and far crueller than arena fights.

Isaac sighed and stood. He held a hand out to Scott, which Scott gratefully accepted. Isaac pulled Scott to his feet with controlled strength and Scott planted his feet firmly on the uneven flagged stone floor.

“I have won a fair few fights in my time,” Isaac told him, confidence unexpectedly revealing itself in the flash of his eyes and his lopsided smile, “I reckon we will be just fine.”

Derek seemed to have snapped out of his own trance too, because the next thing Scott knew, his mentor - the _Undefeated Alpha_ \- was suddenly standing beside them.

“Just remember your training,” Derek told him, “And the second that collar is taken off you, dig down deep into the power it unleashes, let it wash over you, let it take over. Use your instinct. Use that power to your advantage.” A hand landed on his shoulder. “And remember it’s not just you out there. Fight for Isaac. Fight to live. Fight to see your mother again, and to see Stiles again.”

Scott swallowed heavily, forced back a threatening surge of unwanted tears, and nodded at him, “And you,” Scott told Derek. Although he doubted the _Undefeated Alpha_ needed any pep talk, Scott wanted to see him alive at the end of the day too. “Fight for the people you care about too,” He had guessed from Derek’s speech that Derek’s loved ones were a main motivation for him.

Derek blinked in surprise. “I will,” He told him. “I always do.”

Scott nodded at him.

The clanging from the guard came again. “Time, _Gravedigger_.”

“Alright, alright,” Isaac aggressively rolled his eyes, “I hate that fucking name.” He looked at Scott with a small supportive grin that seemed far too endearing for a deadly warrior with the Gladiator moniker _Gravedigger_ , and clapped Scott on the shoulder, “Let’s go and get you a better name than mine, eh?”

“I’m not going to be a legend,” Scott said, as the pair of them moved towards the bars. He might not even see the next day.

“Don't be so sure of that Scott,” Peter commented suddenly as they passed him, having apparently heard most of the conversation, “You have potential.”

“And that’s coming from Peter,” Isaac said to him, nudging him with his elbow, “That’s a compliment if ever I heard one.”

Scott looked back at Derek, to see him watching them intensely. Derek nodded at them, solemn and supportive, but there was no more that the legendary Gladiator could do now. This was something Scott now had to do on his own.

The guards at the door opened the gate to the passage, and closed it behind them.

Walking down the passage that led to the sands seemed to take a lifetime, even with Isaac beside him. There were armed guards behind them and armed guards in front, waiting at the large gate that opened out into the arena, and would lock the Gladiators out on the sands the minute it was bolted behind them. It would not open again until there was a victory.

“They will take our collars off through the bars once we are on the sands,” Isaac explained. “They haven’t got the balls to take them off us whilst we are in the same passage as them.”

“Shut it,” One of the guards snarled behind them, poking Isaac’s shoulder with the sharp point of his spear, but seemingly not brave enough to do any more than that.

The gate was opened, and the next thing Scott knew, the sands were under his feet, hot through his thin sandals.

The sun was in his eyes. And he could hear the roar of the crowds. It was deafening.

“Stand back against the bars,” The guard ordered, and they did so, and the guard unlocked Isaac’s collar first, drawing it back into the passage, before doing the same to Scott.

Scott felt the full force of his power return to him the moment the collar around his neck was unlocked and taken away. It washed over him like a wave. He had felt it before, when his collar had been removed for his control training, but this was different. This was following his first successful full moon. This time the regaining of his powers was matched with fear and adrenaline. This time the powers were going to be what kept him alive.

“Feel that power, Scott?” Isaac whispered to him as they stood side by side with their backs pressed against the only way out of the arena that wasn’t death or a defeated opponent.

Scott blinked his eyes; aware that they were glowing, and suddenly his eyes adjusted to the glaring light of the sun. He could see sharply; sharp enough to see their opponents all the way across the arena on the other side of the sands. He could see the thousands of spectators looking down at him from their raised seats all around the arena. He could hear everything.

“Yes,” Scott replied, “I feel it.”

His claws had expanded from his fingers, his neck was cracking but he knew he had to control the full change until the fight had been officially started. There were markers in the centre of the sands that they had to reach before the announcement of the fight, before it could truly begin.

“Good,” Isaac said shortly, “Use it.” He pushed himself away from the gate, “Time to go, Scott.”

Time to go.

 

***

Stiles watched Scott and Isaac walk onto the sands. He did not know how they were walking, he was frozen in terror. For not the first time that day, he was grateful that Chris and Victoria had not brought Melissa with them that day. No mother should have to watch this. It was hard enough as his best friend.

He was standing in-waiting behind the chairs of Kate, Chris, Victoria and Allison Argent. They were situated on the end of the long VIP balcony of the arena, alongside other important nobility and Ludus owners that were in attendance that day.

Stiles had been in the process of pouring drinks when he had heard Kate pre-announce the fight to her family, “It’s your Scott, next,” She had said as though it wasn’t a big deal at all, to any of them.

Allison had gone rigid in her chair, and Stiles had not noticed the glass he was filling overflow until Lydia had gently nudged him aside and taken over. Chris had glanced back at him, but Victoria had shrugged and said, “You said he shows promise, Katherine?”

“Oh yes,” Kate said, “He would not be fighting if I thought he might bring shame on my Ludus.”

Stiles grit his teeth, and he could actually see Allison grinding hers.

But the second Scott and Isaac entered the arena all anger gave way to bone crippling fear. Stiles edged forward despite himself to look at Scott the best that he could. Scott cocked his head as they walked to the centre of the sands, and although Stiles could not see Scott properly, he knew Scott was looking at them where they were situated on the main platform. He heard Allison stifle a gasp in front of him as she first caught sight of glowing amber eyes.

The two Weres that entered the pit on the other side looked as young as Scott and Isaac, but were much bigger. Stiles gulped, his eyes darting across the sands, from Scott to his opponents and across the sands and back again. There was absolutely nothing he could do.

The announcements were made by the special guest of the day; some Southern noble come up North that Stiles did not bother to remember the name or agenda of. There were too many names and agendas on the platform that day.

Scott was looking up at the platform. Stiles watched back, knowing that Allison would be doing the same. He knew Scott would be able to see them perfectly, and Stiles attempted to look encouraging, rather than pale and sick with terror.

“Let the fight begin!” The speaker shouted out to the arena.

Oh gods.

He watched as Scott’s head jerked from side to the other, and the next moment, he had transformed fully into a Were. He and Isaac, also changed, immediately doubled back and away from their opponents, their stances defensive and ready.

Stiles began to panic. His heart was racing and his breaths were coming shallower and faster, he clenched his clammy hands into fists and closed his eyes. He had had panic attacks in the past; a terrified eleven year old, just orphaned and taken from his free life into a big house as a slave, cowering in the corner of the stables, feeling like he was dying because he could not regain control, until a strange, kind looking boy with an uneven jaw and big puppy-dog eyes came and knelt in front of him, sat beside him, and talked to him until he calmed. Scott had calmed him down on each of the few occasions that Stiles had suffered panic attacks, and he was determined not to start one now, because if Scott happened to glance their way again, seeing Stiles in a state would distract him from the fight.

Stiles heard a collective gasp of excitement and shouts from the crowds, and he lurched forward a little, instinctively opening his eyes again. Before he could even make out what was going on below, a hand quickly took hold of his. Stiles looked down in surprise to see that he had moved right up to the back of Allison’s seat, and that she had reached up with her right hand over her shoulder to grasp on to Stiles.

In any social situation, the sight of a member of nobility holding the hand of a slave would be greatly frowned upon. Fortunately, Allison was seated at the end of the long platform, with her family between her and the rest, and a high barrier on the other side that prevented the commoners from being able to ogle the noble guests. Unfortunately, the action did not miss the notice of Allison’s family. Victoria sniffed in dissatisfaction, but edged forward in her seat, presumably to further block Allison from view of nobles further down the line; she often found Allison’s choices foolish, and found her fondness of the house slaves exasperating, but she loved her daughter fiercely and would protect her at all costs. Chris glanced in their direction as his wife’s movement brought his attention to them, but his eyes moved almost instantly back to the sands. He was used to seeing Allison, Stiles and Scott together, talking and joking with each other like the old friends that they were, and so it was of little concern to him. Kate, however, rested her gaze on their joined hands, clasped together just above Allison’s shoulder, and stared for a long time. Stiles tried not to pay her attention, but it was hard not to when he knew that his new Mistress was watching and probably deciding how she was going to punish him for it.

Allison had not paid any of it the least bit of attention, nor really the fact that she had grasped Stiles’ hand in the first place. Her whole attention was fixed on the sands, or more accurately, on Scott.

Stiles clenched his fingers harder around Allison’s slimmer hand as he looked back at the sands himself.

He was surprised to see that first blood had already been spilt. He was overwhelmingly relieved that that blood was neither Scott nor Isaac’s. He felt momentarily guilty for wishing injury on the two other fighters, one of which was heavily wounded in one arm, but as Scott managed to duck a swipe of a claw and a thrust of a sword, Stiles found himself relieved again that his friends appeared to have the upper hand.

The whole fight lasted about ten minutes, and although there were a couple of close calls which had Stiles’ heart lurching and Allison pulling Stiles’ hand against her cheek as she worried, there was never really a point where Isaac and Scott looked out of their depth against the two larger fighters. The slighter builds of the _Lupus Ludus Wolves_ meant that they could dodge moves with a quicker speed, and were agile in attack.

Stiles was startled to see Scott’s calm demeanour as he, almost clinically, came back and forth with blood-drawing jabs. His friend was determined to live. He could see it in him, but he had not quite expected it of him; the strength, the agility, his unblinking determination at drawing blood of the opponents.

Scott received a blow from a clawed hand that had Stiles gasping his name and Allison almost breaking his fingers, but Isaac fought back to give Scott the time he needed to recover. They surged forward together and thankfully it wasn’t long before the two other warriors had been beaten onto the sands and stayed there in a display of surrender.

Isaac then barked something at Scott, and they both looked up to the platform. Scott was breathing hard, and his amber eyes looked to the end of the platform; to Allison and Stiles, before they travelled to the centre, waiting for the thumbs-up or thumbs-down that would determine the fates of their foes.

Allison dropped Stiles’ hand and stuck her thumb out and up, a sign that she wanted the opponents to live. She did not want Scott to kill anybody. Her parents side-eyed their daughter’s action and mirrored it. This was something Stiles did not have a say in; if he had watched the fight as a free man or as a servant or slave that wasn’t on duty, then yes he could have voted, but it was not his place as a server, who should not have been watching the fight at all but doting on his masters and mistresses. So he took a step back and prayed that the majority of the crowd would stick their thumbs up.

Kate had watched her relatives put their thumbs up, and rolled her eyes, before watching the rest of the nobility. The crowd was shouting ‘life’ or ‘death’ depending on their vote, and finally, the day’s guest took into account the votes around him and made a final judgement. His thumb went up.

Scott and Isaac had survived the fight, and so had their opponents. Scott and Isaac would not be killing anybody that day, and had come out victorious. It had turned out exactly how Stiles had prayed it would, but his stomach still felt tight and fluttery. Allison turned to him with a smile brimming with relief, her eyes soft and overjoyed. Stiles swallowed, and nodded at her with a weak, encouraging smile.

Scott and Isaac trailed off the sands, beaten but not broken, and their opponents made their way to the opposite end of the arena. Stiles wanted nothing more to go and see his friends immediately, to make sure up-close that they were ok, but Stiles and Isaac’s fight had been one of the first. He would have to wait through a whole day of fights, and witness ones involving Derek and Peter and Jackson.

Stiles shuffled and fidgeted when nobody was looking. He did not watch many of the fights, keeping his eyes averted and attempting to not listen to the screams for death and life. More fights ended with the decision for death the longer the day went on. Stiles was shocked to find himself becoming increasingly unfeeling towards the bloodshed and violence the more of it he saw.

When Jackson fought with his spear and his knives, Stiles edged his way to Lydia’s side and hooked two of his fingers around hers in support. She looked at him, pale and wide-eyed, and tapped his fingers in a sign of thanks. They broke hands before anybody saw them, and a moment later Jackson was triumphant, having only received apparently superficial wounds and the thumbs-down meant that he ran his opponent through with a spear a heartbeat later.

The Alpha fights began after Jackson’s. Stiles tried not to pay too much attention, as the fights grew bloodier with higher stakes, until Peter’s fight. Peter came onto the sands, oozing confidence, and he fought feral and unforgiving. There was more blood on the sands after Peter’s fight than any other. Peter came out victorious, having gutted his opponent and ripped his throat out with his teeth. Upon victory, Peter grinned a bloodstained grin up at the platform and polished off his performance with a dramatic bow. His victim was an absolute mess on the sands and already dead, so there was no need for a thumbs-down. The _Defeater of Death_? Today Peter was the Bringer of Death.

Stiles knew that he would never be able to see Peter without his bloodstained smile and his bloodstained hands from that moment. He knew that a fight fought in necessity of survival should not determine his opinion of any of the _Wolves_ , but he could not help but think that Peter also enjoyed himself during those fights.

Stiles believed that he would not see that same look in Derek’s face when it came to the ‘highlight’ fight of the day. He hoped he would not ever see Derek in a different light.

“My best fighter,” Kate was telling the Lord seated on her left side. “One of the most famous Gladiators in the country. And watch for the _Undefeated Alpha’s_ salute of the platform upon his inevitable victory; he acknowledges his Domina every battle, because I am the one that has put him in this position of power. I have given him his opportunities.”

Stiles bit his tongue, unable to halt the stare that he burned into the back of Kate’s skull. He knew that the likelihood would be that she made Derek salute her to have yet another way to assert her power over him; something spawned out of whatever it was she felt for Derek to have chosen him alone out of all the Gladiators at her disposal to join her in her rooms so often. She surely lusted after her Gladiator, to take him to her bed, but despised his race. Stiles was disgusted by her.

Derek’s appearance on the sands roused an uproarious cheer from the crowd. His opponent was burly and muscled, an older Gladiator.

Derek took his place in the centre of the sands, still in his ‘human’ form, and waited, looking expectantly at the speaker.

The announcement was made, and as the name ‘ _Undefeated Alpha’_ was shouted over the appreciative roar of the crowd, Stiles watched Derek’s face. Derek did not flinch at the sound of his name; he did not react much to anything. Not until the Gladiators were ordered to prepare for the battle did Derek move, his clenched fists uncurling abruptly with newly extended claws, his head jerking as his fangs sprung forth, and he blinked his eyes to a bright red.

Stiles could not help but openly stare. He had not seen Derek transformed at all before, not even in the colour of his eyes. Stiles was not afraid to admit that Derek was a magnificent Were. He looked strong and powerful and beautiful. His eyes were bright and blood red and Stiles was transfixed as those eyes seemed to flick up to the balcony, before focusing with finality on his opponent.

The Weres flew at each other and clashed almost instantly, there was no circling each other, there was no preamble or showmanship in it. That was clearly more Peter’s forte than Derek’s. Derek was here to win, not to put on a show.

The first true blow that Derek’s opponent successfully landed had Stiles shrinking backward. He was highly tempted to reach out to Lydia or Allison again, but then he would have to answer the inevitable question of why he was so afraid for a man he had – as far as anyone else was aware – had only had a handful of encounters with in the dining hall of the Ludus. He saw blood blossom from gouges on Derek’s chest and his whole body clenched in fear. The pain seemed to have a completely different effect on Derek however, who launched himself forward with new vigour. There was a clash of claws and teeth and the short-swords the pair had been armed with.

And suddenly, the two of them froze, pressed close together. The crowd fell silent, and Stiles knew one of them had been beaten; he could not see from the angle he was at. It felt like a lifetime before the other Were finally stumbled back and it was revealed that it was Derek’s blade was protruding from his thigh.

The Were wrenched it out and blood instantly poured down onto the sands at his feet. He fell to his knees in a sign of surrender. Derek’s expression was unreadable from Stiles’ position, and Derek looked from the defeated Were to the platform as the crowd erupted with cheers and shouts of ‘life’ or ‘death’.

Kate’s thumb faced down. Many others followed her suit.

The decision was made and shouted across the sands.

Stiles watched Derek’s face. He looked tired to Stiles; exhausted and suppressed, before the unreadable mask resumed its place. His eyes were still red as he turned back towards the Were. The pair appeared to exchange words that no-one but they would ever hear and then Derek raised his sword up, and with one fluid swing, took off his opponents head. It fell and rolled across the sands in the renewed silence of the arena.

“That’s him,” Kate said, proudly, to the Lord beside her, as they all watched Derek stare down at the body and then turn to nod – in obvious salute – toward Kate on the platform. “That’s my _Undefeated Alpha_.”

It was strange having Derek look in their direction again, and Stiles hoped Derek would not be able to see whatever twisted, pale look was currently in residence on Stiles’ face.

Derek then turned abruptly and left the sands. His manner of killing his opponent had been more merciful than Peter’s, and he had purposefully given his opponent a chance for life rather than killing him when he had the chance.

Stiles felt sick as slaves ran onto the sands to quickly clean up the body the _Undefeated Alpha_ had left behind. He felt sick and sorrowful for all the men he had watched die that day, but he was also grateful that none of those men to die today had been his close friends. Watching men he didn’t know die like that had been hard enough. He was even more afraid now than he had been, for the day where he would have to watch a fight that one of his friends would receive a thumb down, and would be left to bleed out, dead-eyed and lifeless on the sands of the arena.

***

 

The next day brought Stiles into the midst of the Gladiators again, as he served food in the dining hall.

Despite the fact he had been allowed to see Scott for lunch, this was actually a punishment. Kate had seen Allison holding Stiles’ hand, and now Stiles was facing the punishment for that action. He had had his meals halved, and he was only allowed to eat when Kate permitted it. He was making, serving and cleaning up food that day because Kate was using it as a form of torture; denying him of food and then forcing him to be around it all day.

Kate had been discreet with her physical assault of him this time; as she reprimanded him she had gripped the back of his neck so hard that it now felt bruised and stiff, and she bent back the fingers he had held Allison’s hand with to the point that he was sure they would break. But she had not hit him or bruised him in any other way; nothing that would show obviously on his skin or face. He figured that there had to be another social event coming up that she would be taking him along to, and that marks on his skin would blemish his appearance and also draw notice, as a blatant sign that the Domina was having trouble with and was having to punish one of her slaves, rather than being in total control. She needed Stiles to look untouched for some reason, so this was her punishment instead.

Stiles’ stomach hurt as he smelt the food in the pots before him, and he took a long shuddering breath that had Matt and Danny sending him sympathetic glances. The house slaves knew Stiles was on half-rations, and were supposed to be keeping him in check, though Matt had already slipped him a piece of bread roll, and Kira had pressed a biscuit into his hand. The guards of the house were watching him too though, so Matt and Kira were lucky that their acts of kindness had not been noticed. The guards were watching him closely now, making sure that Stiles wasn’t tempted to sneak some of the food he was serving to the Gladiators.

Thankfully, Stiles was momentarily distracted from his hunger by an “Oi. You.”

Stiles looked up from the gravy he was stirring mournfully and came face to face with Jackson Whittemore.

“Uhh,” Stiles said, realising that Jackson probably knew that Stiles had found out about his and Lydia’s secret relationship, and also remembering how effortlessly Jackson had run his opponent through with a spear the day before. “Hey.”

Jackson was watching him closely, eyes narrowed and searching his face. “Lydia told me,” Jackson said after a moment, quiet and careful, and far less accusing than Stiles had expected.

“I won’t say a word,” Stiles promised immediately, sincere in his certainty that he would die before letting Kate find out about the relationship. He would never let Kate win. He would never betray Lydia and Jackson.

Jackson looked at him for a second or two longer before he said, “I know.” He held out his plate. “So, are you going to give me my food or what?”

Stiles rolled his eyes, but grateful for the distraction, and despite not being overly fond of Jackson, still grateful for his trust, he did not bother to form a snarky remark and instead served up Jackson’s lunch.

He watched Jackson walk away, still a little stunned that Jackson had not even thrown one threat at him, when he heard his name shouted from outside.

Stiles turned to see Scott racing across from the sands towards the dining hall.

Stiles had been only minutely afraid that all that had happened in Scott’s fight yesterday would come rushing back to him and make their reunion awkward, but he needn’t have worried. The moment Scott reached him Stiles had wrapped him up in the tightest hug he could muster.

“I’m sorry you had to watch yesterday.” Scott told him. “I saw you and Allison up on the platform and I wished you didn’t have to watch, but…but I was glad you were there. Knowing you both were there gave me more determination to win.”

“And win you did, Scotty,” Stiles smiled, breaking their hug. “I am so glad that you are ok,” He stepped back and prodded Scott here and there; there were a few marks on his friend’s skin that were blatantly fast-healed wounds, and Stiles frowned. “You aren’t in too much pain?”

“They let you heal up a bit before they put the collar back on,” Scott ensured him.

Stiles nodded, “Good. That’s good to know,” Stiles moved back to the table and filled Scott’s plate, “I’ll finish up here and join you in a bit.”

Scott nodded, his smile big and wide, and he moved towards the table Erica and Boyd were sitting at.

Stiles served Isaac next. “Thank you,” Stiles whispered to Isaac, as he was overly generous with his helping of potatoes, “Thank you for seeing him through it.”

Isaac offered one of his endearing little smiles. “He did really well for his first fight. I was impressed.”

Stiles pushed Isaac’s plate into his hands and Isaac raised a brow when he saw the extra food Stiles had given him, “Stiles, you don’t have to…”

“I can take it back?”

“No,” Isaac held the plate closer to himself, “No, no, I’m not complaining.” He glanced to the Weres still coming toward the food table from across the sands, and then back to Stiles, “I’ll see you at the table.”

“You sure will.”

The next moment, Isaac was gone and Stiles had Peter in front of him, smirk firmly in place. “Stiles,” He drawled, “What did you think of the fight yesterday?”

“Oh. Yeah,” Stiles faltered, remembering Peter slashing his opponent’s abdomen and guts and blood spilling out onto the sands. The sands had to be well turned over once Peter had left them to get rid of the scarlet. “You certainly, err, know how to entertain an audience.”

Peter cocked his head to one side, “But I did not entertain you, Stiles.”

Stiles did not know if that was meant as a question or a statement. “No. Not me.”

“Well,” Peter said, “Maybe I will have to try harder next time.”

“No,” Stiles told him firmly, “No, you don’t have to.”

“I disagree,” Peter wagged his finger at him, “I like a challenge.”

“I didn’t challenge you,” Stiles muttered, as he passed Peter’s plate to Danny to serve up.

He moved back as Peter leaned forwards over the table, closer to Stiles’ face. Peter grinned, “Are you afraid of me, now, Stiles?”

Stiles frowned. Peter unnerved him, and his performance yesterday on the sands had been gory and unnecessarily violent, but Peter still did not scare him. Kate scared Stiles. Peter did not treat people like Kate did. “No.”

Peter grinned wider, showing sharp teeth, “Maybe I will have to try harder,” He repeated.

“Again,” Stiles snarked, taking Peter’s plate from Danny and then handing it back over to the Were, “That wasn’t a challenge.”

Peter laughed, and walked away.

Derek took his place.

“Derek,” Stiles stammered, “Hey.”

Derek was watching him semi-warily. He had clearly overhead Stiles and Peter’s conversation about Peter’s fight on the sands. “Stiles.”

“I’m not afraid of you, either, before you try your whole ‘moderately threatening’ routine,” Stiles commented, in an attempt to break the ice.

Derek offered him one of those small smiles Stiles had finally cracked from him. It only flickered on Derek’s face for a matter of moments, but Stiles caught it.

“I’m glad to see you today, you know, all intact,” Stiles added, more meaningfully, glancing down to look at Derek’s chest just to make sure that the gouges that had been left by his opponent were mostly healed, “And the wolf-look is a good look on you, Sour Wolf. Red eyes, man. Cool.”

Derek rolled his eyes, and picked up a plate to hand over to Stiles. “Thanks,” He said when Stiles took the plate, but Stiles knew that Derek meant it for what he had said.

Stiles smiled at him, and Derek’s mouth quirked again before he cleared his throat and his gaze awkwardly jerked away.

Stiles counted it as a victory, and handed back Derek’s full plate, “Eat up, champ.”

Derek raised his eyebrows at him in slight disbelief, but took the plate. “See you, Stiles.”

“Looking forward to it already,” Stiles winked, and grinned as Derek shook his head in a ‘why me’ way, and turned away.

Stiles glanced to the side to see Danny openly staring at him, having witnessed the exchange.

“What?” Stiles asked him.

“You and Derek are on good terms,” Danny said slowly.

“Are we?” Stiles asked vaguely, “I just try to crack the Sour Wolf a little more each time.”

“Yeah, well,” Danny said, “You’d be one of the first.”

Unwilling to be grilled by Danny for much longer, Stiles finally managed to escape and join Scott, Isaac, Erica and Boyd at the table.

“Where’s your lunch, Stiles?” Scott asked in confusion, “Danny and Matt are dishing out theirs.”

“I, uhh,” Stiles tapped the table, feeling on-the-spot and awkward, “I’m on half-rations, Scotty. No lunch for me today.” His eyes snapped up to the guards watching the hall, and more than one had their eyes on him. “Domina’s reinforced orders.”

Scott’s brows knitted together as he frowned, looking at the guards as well, before his wide eyes fixed back on Stiles again, “Why?”

“No reason,” Stiles deflected.

“Stiles,” Scott insisted, reaching across the table and taking Stiles’ hand. The grip on Stiles’ bruised fingers had him wincing, and Scott retracted his hand as though he’d burned it. He stared down at Stiles’ fingers in shock, “Stiles?”

“It’s nothing,” Stiles insisted, taking his fingers into his other hand, shielding them from view of the Weres. Isaac, Erica and Boyd were watching him with poorly veiled concern. Scott was making no effort to hide his own.

“Nothing? Stiles!”

“Enough, Scott,” Stiles snapped, “I’m ok. I’m taking care of it. You’ve got your battles to worry about, and I’ve got mine.”

“If you would just tell me…”

“It was about Lady Allison, when I saw her yesterday.” Stiles looked at Scott pointedly, knowing that Scott would drop the topic if it was about his and Allison’s secret feelings for each other.

Thankfully, Scott let it drop. But the look on his face told Stiles that Scott would be prying the story out of Stiles the next moment they had some privacy.

The conversation was effectively halted anyway, when a plate was set down on the table opposite Stiles and next to Boyd. Everyone looked up, taken aback to see Jackson, with Danny beside him, taking seats at the table and joining them.

Jackson smirked at them all, before drawing Erica, Isaac and Boyd into a conversation about the pros and cons of using a net as a weapon in the arena, as though he had always been a part of their lunchtime routines.

Stiles blinked at him, and wondered what had changed, and whether it had really taken Stiles’ adamant protection of Jackson and Lydia’s secret for Jackson to trust them. He switched his surprised look to Danny, who smiled at him encouragingly, nudging him with his foot under the table.

And just like that, Stiles knew that their group had just gotten a little larger.

Stiles glanced around the room until he found Derek. Derek was watching the group thoughtfully; the only group larger than three in the whole dining hall. Stiles met Derek’s eyes for only a moment, but it was enough for him to interpret Derek’s response as wistful. Stiles hoped that maybe one day, their group would get a little larger still.

 

***

The success of the _Lupus Ludus_ during the _Crescent Moon_ tournament had prompted Kate to host a party for the Lords and Ladies and Ludus owners that she wished to either make alliance with, or gloat to.

Stiles, Lydia, Kira, Danny and Matt had been briefed on what was expected them, and then had spent three days with various preparations, decorations, and cleaning and cooking.

It had been an arduous few days for an extravagant event. But at least the need for energy had encouraged Kate to allow Stiles back on a full diet, so there were small mercies.

The night of the party came, and the party was indeed lavish. It was a true display of Kate’s wealth. The number of guests was actually much fewer than Stiles had anticipated from the amount of preparation. There were only ten of them that Kate was entertaining that evening; four women and six men.

In a tradition Stiles had only learnt about the day before; Kate had selected some of her Gladiators to be brought out of the Ludus, washed and oiled, and brought into the house. They were all standing upon small circular platforms around the room, to act as decoration, and further entertainment if wished. Stiles had felt sick when Lydia had told him that it was common for Ludus owners to loan their champion Gladiators out for their guests to have sex with during parties. It was the worst kind of slavery. The most degrading way of life. Not only were these men forced to fight for their lives in the arena, but they were also made to have sex with whomever their Domina told them to.

Stiles found himself at a crossroad when it came to Scott; both hoping that Scott survived the arena as a Gladiator, but also praying that he would never have to be loaned out by Kate Argent, because the two seemed to go hand in hand. You could not be one of Kate’s champions without becoming one of Kate’s most sought after pets. He decided to put his fears for Scott aside for the time being, because thankfully, Scott was still deemed too inexperienced a Gladiator to be brought into the house and also too new to be known or of interest to potential friends of Kate Argent.

However, that did mean that Derek, Jackson, Boyd, Erica and a few others were of great interest to Kate’s guests, and so were there standing on the platforms, naked but for the tiny loincloths around their waists (and wraps around the chests of the females), and the black collars round their necks.

Stiles noted Lydia meeting Jackson’s eye a couple of times, but the Gladiator appeared to be trying hard not to acknowledge her, possibly in his embarrassment of being on display in such a way.

Stiles, along with his fellow house-slaves, stood in a line on the outskirts of the room, circling every so often with trays of drinks or food. He was standing between Lydia and Danny when Boyd and Jackson were eventually picked out by two of the women and taken off to different bedrooms. Both of them refused to meet anyone’s eyes as they left. Stiles watched Erica watch the woman leading Boyd away with a murderous stare as cold and cutting as the sharpest glass. Stiles subtly squeezed Danny and Lydia’s wrists when they tensed as Jackson disappeared, his face set like stone.

Stiles could not help how his eyes wandered to Derek. Derek had been admired by every visitor, but there was not the interest to take him to a room that there was with the others. There seemed to be some unspoken agreement that he was to be left unless the Domina said so. It made him sick that Derek and the others were being treated like objects to look at and be used for pleasure.

Stiles found himself doing as Lydia had done with Jackson, and attempted to meet Derek’s eye, but the Were appeared to be in another world, staring fixedly at the opposite wall and barely even blinking.

It was not until a little later in the evening that Stiles’ assumption about Derek and Kate was proved. Kate called the remaining guests who were not occupying a room with a Gladiator; three of the men and two of the women, to gather with her. They laid out on lounge chairs and cushions surrounding an elaborate rug in the centre of the room.

The house slaves lined up along the nearest wall, waiting to be called upon. Stiles followed suit.

“Derek, come here please,” Kate ordered over the quiet chatter in the room.

Derek seemed to snap from wherever he had sent himself, and immediately stepped from his platform, and walked toward his Domina. He, like Jackson and Boyd had done, looked at nothing but the ground.

“Kneel,” She said, when Derek reached her, and he did so in one fluid movement. Kate smiled, like Derek was a pet she was especially fond of, and carded a hand through his hair. “Any of you who wish to have my _Undefeated Alpha_ may make your offers at the evening’s end,” She commented to her ‘friends’, almost as an afterthought.

“My Lady Katherine,” One of the men said; a lewd man who had been making Stiles feel uncomfortable all evening with his lingering gazes, “May I suggest something?”

“Of course, Lord Ithan,” Kate replied, eyeing him curiously, as though surprised the man would dare and try to make the evening go in any course that Kate did not wish it to.

“Would we be able to gain a closer look at your house-slaves?” Lord Ithan said.

The suspicion dropped from Kate’s face and she laughed lightly. “Why not?” She looked over at Stiles and the other slaves. “Come here,” They moved forward in one motion. Stiles didn’t want to, gods, he didn’t want to join those people, but he would never dare to disobey Kate in front of company. “Stop there.”

They all stilled as soon as the command was issued.

“You like what you see Ithan?” She asked smugly. She was proud of her property, Stiles supposed. She had handpicked her slaves herself, after all. Well, all of them but Stiles.

“I do. You hold an attractive hoard in both your home and Ludus, my lady,” Ithan said.

“I do, do I not?” Kate sounded fond.

Stiles had to swallow down bile.

“This one is new to me,” Kate continued, and Stiles realised with horror that she was talking about him. He raised his eyes just slightly to see Derek was watching him from the corner of his eye from where he knelt. “Step forward Stiles,” Kate ordered.

Stiles did as he was told.

“Obedient, isn’t he?” One of the women admired.

“He has taken some work,” Kate stood, pushing herself up using Derek’s head, before circling behind Stiles and taking a hold of the gold coloured collar around Stiles’ neck. “But I have put him in his place.”

“He is young?” Ithan asked.

“Seventeen, but only just,” The collar was pulled and it forced his head back slightly. “He will grow even prettier with age, I feel.”

“I quite agree.”

“Step back Stiles,” Kate ordered into his ear. Stiles did so, eager to get out of the spotlight of Kate and her lecherous friends, and wishing he could drag Derek back with him.

Kate returned to her seat and Stiles bit the inside of his lip in his irritation. Once again he found himself catching Derek’s eye. The Gladiator gave a minute shake of his head, as though to remind Stiles not to do or say anything stupid.

The conversation continued between Kate and her guests. Derek remained kneeling, and the house-slaves remained standing.

Eventually, Jackson, Boyd, and the other Gladiators and the guests returned from their rooms and took various positions in and around the circle.

Stiles watched with disgust as Kate fiddled and tugged at Derek’s collar as she talked.

As the evening drew to a close, Kate suddenly clapped her hands together. “Now, for a price, which one of you lucky ladies or gentlemen will be enjoying the company of the _Undefeated Alpha_?”

Bids were immediately offered from the circle and Stiles looked in shock at the other slaves in the room. He could not believe that Derek was being bid upon this way. All of the other slaves and Gladiators were staring at the floor, as though trying to block out what was happening. Derek was rigid and silent, his eyes fixed back to the rug beneath his knees.

“Actually…” Ithan’s voice cut through the hubbub. The room quieted, and Stiles had the feeling that something terrible was about to be suggested for Derek. His heart sped up and he had to force himself away from worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. “I was wondering if I might suggest something a little different for this evening. It would certainly make this party of yours even more memorable than it already is, my lady.”

Kate’s eyes hardened once again at the challenge to her authority over her entertainment, but there was that same curiosity there too. “Go on, Lord Ithan.”

“I was going to suggest possibly watching Derek with another slave.”

The whole room seemed to drop several degrees in temperature. Every single slave in the room tensed. Stiles watched Derek’s whole body ripple with humiliated pressure. Kate must have felt it where her hand was resting on the back of Derek’s neck, because suddenly, her face broke into a grin. “And who would you suggest, my lord?”

Stiles kept his eyes down as Ithan took the time to consider the Gladiators and slaves around him. “I think I’d like to see that one. Don’t you?”

“Oh yes, that one,” One of the women agreed excitedly.

The problem with all the slaves staring at the floor was that they had no idea which one of them had been chosen. Stiles carefully lifted his eyes, to double-take when he found everyone looking in his direction. Derek was openly staring at him. Stiles’ stomach dropped.

“He is such a pretty boy, and with the _Undefeated Alpha_ such a perfect specimen, they would look good together, do you not think?” Another guest inputted.

“But Domina,” Derek’s voice was quiet but it carried across the entire room. It was rare for any slave to question their superiors so openly, least of all Derek Hale, and in front of guests. “Stiles is a house slave. He is not trained to…”

“I hope that is not a challenge to our guests’ decisions, Derek,” Kate’s voice was whip-sharp and furious. She turned to her guests, “I accept your proposal, Lord Ithan.” Derek’s challenging of her authority had clearly made up her mind for her. “I am sure my slaves will give you a night to remember.”


	4. Chapter 4

The room was so silent that Stiles could hear his own staccato breaths; short and shallow and panicked. His heart was thundering in his chest. His eyes darted around the room as he looked for an excuse, an escape. All the other Gladiators and slaves were watching him, or watching Derek. Derek was watching him too, his eyes big and wide, and all Stiles could see was the trapped young man that had had all his choices stolen from him. If it wasn’t Stiles that did this - have sex with Derek for the entertainment of Kate’s disgusting party guests - Stiles had no doubt that another would be chosen in his stead. Derek would not be escaping this, and if Stiles was being honest with himself, he wasn’t escaping it either. Not if he didn’t want Scott punished for his disobedience. Gods, disobedience now would probably spell his own death, let alone anybody else’s.

“Stiles,” Kate’s voice was faux-fond, “Come forward.” She looked conspiratorially at her guests and informed them all, “Forgive the boy if he is a little skittish; I would not be surprised if this is his first.”

Stiles locked eyes with Derek, and found himself shaking his head, it was a minute movement, but anybody looking at him would have seen it. It was meant as an apology, an apology to Derek, but to anyone else it could have been misinterpreted as refusal. Derek seemed to understand him, eyes flickering down and back up again.

Kate had seen Stiles’ little headshake, and must have taken it as refusal, because she took a step closer to him, her expression threatening whilst her back was to her guests.

“Stiles,” She said. Her tone was final.

Stiles knew it would be the last time she would ask it of him.

He clenched his fingers into fists, and stepped forward.

It wasn’t that he did not want to be with Derek. It was something he had allowed himself to imagine, to fantasise. Derek was kind, handsome, and Stiles had just begun to find out about his wicked sense of humour. Derek was everything Stiles had ever found attractive, because Stiles had always been attracted to men as well as women, more so, possibly. But he had accepted that Derek probably did not see him in that way, and, as two slaves in a household that was kept separate - Gladiators and house slaves kept apart, for the most part - and any relationships ultimately forbidden, Stiles had passed off his attraction to Derek as something that would never happen. And he would rather it not, if this was the way it was going to happen.

“Good boy,” Kate said, and Stiles flinched in his attempt to ignore her.

He made it to the centre of the room, in front of Derek, without shouting, vomiting or attempting to run away, which was pretty much a miracle. Derek was pale, and looking up at him, still frozen in place on his knees.

“Tell us, Stiles,” Kate asked, her voice silky smooth and venomous, “Have you ever had intercourse before?”

Stiles felt his cheeks burn in embarrassment, and swallowed against the lump in his throat. Tears burned his eyes, and he looked at Derek, to avoid glaring openly at Kate, and shook his head. A ripple of sound went round the guests, and Stiles thought he heard Lord Ithan say something about Stiles being a ‘delicate, innocent thing’, and Stiles hated him. How did they not see this as cruel? As wrong? Just because Stiles and Derek were slaves, these people thought that that made it alright for them to force two young men to do this against their will, whilst they all watched? How could Kate just let this happen?

But Kate was not in the least bit merciful. She sounded pretty pleased, in fact, when she ordered, “Up and undress, Derek, the audience is in your hands,” She settled herself into the circle of lords and ladies around them. “Teach the boy all about pleasure. Teach him how to entertain.”

There was a murmur of excitement as the guests watched on, and Stiles swallowed hard, wanting to block them out. He wished the other slaves and Gladiators did not have to watch. He glanced at the line of house slaves to find them with their eyes loyally to the floor. He looked the other way to see the Gladiators doing the same. They were showing respect and allowing Derek and Stiles to keep some of their pride, and Stiles was grateful to them.

He then tried to block them out too; ignore the whole room, and solely focus on Derek, who was slowly getting to his feet. Maybe, if Stiles kept his whole focus on Derek, he could trick himself into imagining that they were alone.

Derek stood taller than Stiles by a few inches, and Stiles could not stop himself from dropping his gaze down Derek’s bare, chiselled body, to the loincloth that barely kept Derek’s modesty, and then back up again.

Derek was watching him, the concern in his eyes giving way slightly to curiosity at Stiles’ reaction to him; something only Stiles saw, and only Stiles understood, albeit with some surprise.

Derek’s hands moved to Stiles’ clothing, but stalled before they touched him. Derek’s eyebrow twitched, as if asking Stiles’ consent, as if they had any other choice in the matter. Stiles gave a quick nod, because he could not refuse. He would not have refused Derek in any other situation. He would have encouraged him. He wanted Derek. But he just wished that it had not been in this way.

Derek made quick work of unclasping Stiles’ clothes and dropping them to the floor. He stopped at Stiles’ own loincloth, reaching back to remove his own first. The group around them broke out in chatter as Derek was bared to the entire room.

Under the cover of the surrounding noise Derek breathed, “Stiles.”

Stiles looked at him, biting his tongue and forcing back tears.

“Imagine it’s just me,” Derek murmured, looking apologetic and trapped and so very sad that Stiles’ heart ached even as it thundered with nerves, “I know that might not be much comfort, but imagine it’s just me.”

“It’s just you,” Stiles whispered back, if only to stop Derek from looking so guilty, as Derek reached around him to remove his loincloth.

He gasped as he was bared to the room. He had to fight the urge to tuck himself into Derek’s body just to hide himself, and so he stood there, fists clenched, biting the flesh of the inside of his cheek as they waited for instruction.

“Ithan,” Kate’s voice rose again, “As you were the one to suggest tonight’s entertainment, maybe you would like to suggest how my slaves proceed?”

“Thank you, Lady Katherine, for your wonderful generosity,” Stiles suppressed a shudder at that gods-damn lecherous voice. “I believe we all made the right choice in choosing these two; look how well their forms complement each other.”

Stiles cringed and looked up at Derek, and Derek was watching him back. Derek’s fingers were quivering against Stiles’ hip as though he wanted to comfort him but knew that they would be punished for it. Despite the desperate situation they had found themselves, Derek was once again amazing Stiles with his absolute selflessness.

“Well I would need to see the _Undefeated Alpha_ on top, of course, especially if the boy has not been taken before. It would be quite something to watch. I assume Derek will know how to make it entertaining for us all?”

“I assume he would have imagination enough,” Kate’s voice was dismissive, like she did not know what Derek was capable of sexually.

Stiles’ watched Derek’s eye twitch and his jaw move as he clenched his teeth.

“Go on then, Derek,” Kate said, “You know what to do. Teach Stiles how to do it.”

Derek did not hesitate in stepping closer to Stiles so that their bodies pressed together. Stiles could not help but gasp as their skin met, as their cocks were pushed together. Derek’s muscles were bunched with tension when Stiles reached up to grab him for support. Stiles knew why it was. He knew it was about Kate and her total ownership of Derek’s will, freedom and body.

“It’s just us,” Stiles reminded into Derek’s ear, hoping it would help, as Derek descended to make a show of mouthing at Stiles’ neck. He felt Derek’s hands land on his waist and squeeze in an agreeing response.

If this was Derek purposefully putting on an entertaining show, gods help anyone that had Derek’s devoted, earnest attention. His mouth was hot on Stiles’ skin as he worked around the gold band around Stiles’ neck, and the rasp of his stubble and the graze of his teeth along the fluttering pulse in Stiles’ neck left Stiles breathless.

Stiles knew there was an audience, he knew that they were leering at them, and he wanted nothing more than to run away and drag Derek and all the other slaves with him, but as Derek’s hand moved to Stiles’ cock and began to skilfully work it to hardness, it was very hard for Stiles to focus on anything other than Derek. He was glad of it, and their promise of ‘just us’ lingered in Stiles’ mind.

It was what gave him the courage to put his hand on Derek in turn. He heard Derek gasp in surprise, and Derek’s head jerked back so that the older man could look at him. Derek’s eyes were dark and searching, his hand not relenting its pace on Stiles, and Stiles did not let go of Derek either. It was strange, touching someone other than himself. Stiles looked down at the silky smooth and hardening cock in his hand. Derek was bigger than Stiles in width and length, but not as much as Stiles might have guessed. Stiles glanced back up at Derek to find him still staring at him, like he was confused, his mouth slightly gaping as he breathed quick and fast.

“Derek. We are keeping to a time schedule,” Kate’s words cut straight through whatever moment they were sharing, and Stiles froze when he felt a presence just behind him, and something pressing into the hand Derek had against Stiles’ hip. Stiles glanced down at the pot of oil that had been forced between Derek’s fingers and his heart started hammering double time.

Derek’s eyes were darkened with a mix of fury and what Stiles assumed had to be some sort of arousal, as he moved his hands away from Stiles and tucked Stiles against him; presumably to emphasise the difference in their size to their captive audience, as he worked the pot of oil open behind Stiles’ back. Stiles did not know whether or not to let go of Derek or not; moving his hand over him was keeping Stiles’ attention distracted and away from the terrible eyes around him. So he did not let go, and instead became absorbed in pushing his thumb gently over the head of Derek’s cock, smearing precome over the tip, and he felt Derek shudder against him.

Stiles would have felt triumphant in any other circumstance, but the sudden feeling of Derek’s oiled fingers sliding down between his cheeks and Kate ordering, “Turn him towards us, Derek,” destroyed any possible enjoyment Stiles could have had from it.

Stiles let go of Derek and he grabbed a hold of Derek’s upper arms as Derek circled, and carefully pushed, his first finger into Stiles. Stiles bit his lip but the whine of shock he made, revealing every trembling emotion he was experiencing, still escaped him. Derek hushed him, genuinely apologetic, and pressed closer to Stiles again, so that Stiles could hide his face in Derek’s shoulder, from the others in the room, which he did.

“M’sorry,” Derek breathed against Stiles’ ear, broken and upset, “Sorry.”

Stiles shook his head, dismissing Derek’s apology. Derek had nothing to apologise for.

Derek was moving his finger now, working it slowly, in and out and circling and in and out, and Stiles clenched Derek’s biceps tighter, his fingers hard enough to bruise. Damn, it felt good. Derek was being slow, careful, but it was clear he knew what he was doing. And by the time Derek pushed in his second finger, Stiles was feeling weak at the knees. If it had just been them, Stiles knew his usual habit of being unable to stop talking would have been in full flow; he would have been babbling and moaning and begging Derek for more, because despite the initial burning sensations, Derek was making it feel good. But he could hear the murmured appreciative comments and conversation around them, and it was enough to stall his tongue, his throat burning.

It felt like they had stood there under the scrutiny of devouring eyes for a lifetime before Derek finally removed his three fingers from Stiles, and he moved back to check on Stiles, clearly concerned. If Stiles was being honest, he was so intoxicated by Derek that the only reason he was standing up was because he had been leant against him.

“On the floor,” Derek instructed, loud enough for the room to hear. His voice was rough and gravelly; presumably because he was so upset, being forced to do this; to do this with Stiles, of all people. “On your front.”

Stiles was the only one who could see Derek’s eyes, and they were looking at him softly, hintingly, and Stiles understood that Derek had decided on that position to allow Stiles to look away, turn his head toward the back wall and not see anybody watching them. Derek was keeping him from it, and had been with every movement he had made thus far.

Stiles did as he was told, blinking back tears that were painfully determined to break free. He laid down on his front, his forehead pressed against the soft rug on the floor and closed his eyes. It was only a matter of seconds before Derek was lying over him, covering him from the room, and Stiles was again so grateful to Derek, and so very devastated for him, that the first tears broke free, trailing down his face and dripping into the rug. 

The voices around him were blurred and distant, and although he could feel the gazes burning on any patch of his skin that was not shielded by Derek, all he could focus on was the feeling of Derek lubing them both up a little more, and then guiding himself achingly slowly and steadily into Stiles. It hurt, oh gods, for a moment it hurt like nothing else. The noises around him grew in volume into a buzz that, if Stiles still had hair to tear out, would have been making him do so.  But then Derek shifted, and one arm came up to bracket one side of Stiles’ head, his other hand still guiding and soothing, and suddenly the pain lessened, and Derek leant down so that his lips touched just above the collar on Stiles’ neck. “It’s just us,” He comforted, his breath shuddering with effort, “Just us. Ok?”

Stiles nodded his consent, and Derek pushed the rest of the way in in one smooth motion. Stiles’ cry was muffled into the rug, and Derek’s groan was released tight against Stiles’ skin. Stiles could not help but shiver at the sound of Derek losing a little control; that Stiles had been the reason he had made it.

Derek began to move, slow thrusts that must have been satisfactory in display for the audience because no other instructions were thrown Derek’s way. Stiles reached forward blindly with one hand until he found the hand Derek had curled by his face. He took hold of it, anchoring himself and hoping to anchor Derek too. Derek squeezed his fingers, panting slightly into the shaved hair on the back of Stiles’ neck.

Stiles closed his eyes and imagined them elsewhere; somewhere private and alone, and focused on the increasingly enjoyable feeling of Derek moving inside of him. And all of a sudden, Derek pushed against a certain spot in Stiles that had him gasping, gripping Derek’s hand tighter and burying his forehead into the rug. Derek hit that spot a few more times, forcing little ‘ah’s out of Stiles each time, and then Stiles was coming before he could stop himself, body shuddering. He tightened around Derek as he did so, and it was only a moment or two more before Derek followed him, pulling out - presumably as would be expected of him - as he came, his breath stuttering over the nob of bone at the top of Stiles’ spine. 

Derek’s lips stayed pressed against Stiles’ skin, keeping Stiles down as he carefully collapsed half on top of him, still shielding him from the prying eyes of the guests that erupted in chatter around them.

Stiles distantly heard compliments such as, ‘Gorgeous,’ and ‘Such adorable little noises,’ and ‘All hot and bothered now,’ thrown towards Kate. Stiles felt like throwing up at hearing those words, but didn’t have the energy.

“Shall we move into the pool room?” Kate suggested to her guests, “I can have some more of my experienced Gladiators sent up for anybody who wishes to ease some of your passions. For those who do not want to, there will be copious amounts of wine.”

The guests got up and departed with enthusiastic chatter about how this had certainly been a night to remember. Still Stiles and Derek lay panting on the floor. Derek hadn’t moved off of him and was still holding his hand in a vice-like grip.

Stiles became aware of the room having cleared, when he caught sight of Kate’s sandals coming to stand just by his head. He felt Derek’s mouth move away from his skin, as presumably the Gladiator looked up at his Domina. Stiles did not look up. He kept his gaze resolutely on Kate’s shoes, lying flat on his front, his head turned to the side and cheek pressed into the floor.

“You have not disappointed me,” She told them, and Stiles did not even attempt to pick apart the tone of her voice to figure out whether she was pleased or angry about the whole thing having happened or a combination of both. “Matt, Danny, Kira, come and serve us in the other room. Lydia, accompany Stiles down to Deaton with a guard, as it is probably best he is checked. The rest of you will return to the Ludus.”

And then she left without further word.

The room descended into absolute silence.

Derek shifted, and took some of his weight off of Stiles, and the moment it appeared the pair of them were stirring to life, the rest of the slaves did too.

“Stiles! Derek!” Lydia cried as she rushed to their sides. Stiles felt her cool, clammy hands tremor over the skin of his shoulder and arm.

“You three,” Stiles heard Jackson say, presumably to Danny, Kira and Matt, his voice hoarse but firm, “You have to go.”

“But…” Kira started, at the same time Danny attempted to speak to Stiles, “Stiles,” He said.

“M’alright,” Stiles mumbled weakly into the rug, but the room was in such shocked silence that everyone heard him. Derek fingers flexed jerkily in Stiles’ grip. “Get gone before she notices.”

“I…” Danny started, but Jackson interrupted him.

“Go, Danny. We’ll take care of them. Go.”

Lydia’s hands were still fussing, “Derek,” She muttered reassuringly, carefully, and Stiles realised that Derek had still not stopped completely covering Stiles in that protective manner.

Derek grunted once, acknowledging, and finally moved, returning to his deathly silence, and it meant Stiles having to reluctantly release his hold on Derek’s hand. The next thing he knew he was being gathered up in one of the rugs that had been draping the chairs, so that he was completely covered. He sat up slowly with help from two pairs of hands, and looked down at the rug, before looking up for the first time. He saw Lydia’s face first, deathly pale and tear stained, and then Erica, who had fetched the rug. Erica gave him a small smile, brave-facing it for him, and he was grateful, even if her eyes betrayed her fury. Behind them he could see Boyd and Jackson and a couple of other Gladiators, looking solemn and angry, but not pitying; they had all been through their own traumas that night. Danny, Kira and Matt had left the room to continue to serve Kate and her guests. He was glad that they hadn’t lingered longer and gotten into trouble. He would see them the next day.

Finally, he turned to find Derek, and found him hurriedly dressing himself back into his poor excuse for a loincloth. Stiles’ stomach plummeted with sorrow for the fragile young man he saw before him, dark head down and mesmerising eyes dull and fixed ashamedly to the floor.

“Stiles,” Lydia asked him, voice small and comforting, “Are you ok? Can you stand?”

Stiles nodded and let Lydia and Erica help him to his feet. He winced at the movement, but the pain was just uncomfortable and not excruciating; Derek had been careful with him. He had not hurt him.

“You all had best get moving down to the Ludus,” One of the guards commented from the side of the room.

“Yes, we know,” Erica snapped defensively at them, before turning to Stiles, “Can you walk?”

Stiles nodded. “I can walk.”

“You need help?”

Stiles paused, considering. He could walk by himself just fine, but he saw this as an opening. “I could use a hand,” but before anybody could move toward him, he fixed his eyes on Derek, “Derek?”

Derek’s head shot up and he stared at Stiles in surprise, like he had expected Stiles not to want to see him, let alone be near him.

Stiles wrapped his rug a little tighter around himself nervously, wondering whether Derek would be able to stand being near _him._

His worries were ceased somewhat by Derek quickly crossing the room to stand as his side. Stiles reached out and Derek caught his arm, slipping his own around Stiles’ waist.

“Is this ok?” Derek asked, his voice small.

Stiles nodded, “This is ok, and I am ok,” He told him, “As long as you are.” He was concerned for Derek. He had been growing increasingly concerned for Derek the more he had gotten to know him and of the life Derek was forced to lead in Kate’s household.

Stiles watched Derek from the corner of his eye, in order to gage whether Derek would give him a truthful response, and once again Derek was looking surprised.

“I’ll be ok once we’ve got you to Deaton,” Derek replied.

“Well then, let’s not waste time,” Stiles quipped weakly.

Jackson turned to the guard that had spoken earlier, “Apparently Lydia and Stiles require accompaniment?”

There was a pause from the four guards in the room as they exchanged looks. They all looked awkward about what they had just had to witness. One of the guards was Bennett, who was looking at Jackson like he knew Jackson wanted it to be him that volunteered to join them, but did not want to look too eager in front of the other guards. Lydia had told Stiles that the reason she and Jackson had gained Bennett as an ally was because Jackson was paying Bennett off with some of his winnings from the arena. If the other guards ever found out about Bennett’s arrangement with Jackson, it would be unlikely they would go straight to Kate, preferring instead to see what they themselves could earn from the successful Gladiator they called the _Kanima_ through the means of blackmail.

“They will only need one, won’t they?” Bennett finally piped up when none of the other guards said anything, like he was impatient with the other’s reluctance and taking charge of the situation.

One of the other guards nodded. The others did not say anything.

“Fine,” Bennett huffed, “I will join them,” He volunteered.

Jackson looked pleased and nodded sharply.

Bennett followed the group of Gladiators and Stiles and Lydia as they made their way down into the Ludus. Stiles was glad of Derek’s gentle but sturdy support of him. He was glad to have Derek close by, if only to know that Derek was not closing up or blaming himself.

Once they were down in the Ludus and out of earshot of any other guards, Stiles heard Jackson speak to Bennett.

“How is this going to work?”

“It is not normal procedure,” Bennett stated the obvious, “So there is no protocol. I was going to suggest letting Lydia and Stiles see Deaton on their own. I will wait outside the surgery for them and escort them back to the house when they are done.”

“I agree,” Jackson said, “But I would ask that you let Derek go into the room with them as well.”

Derek must have been listening to their conversation as well, as his arm tightened a little around Stiles’ waist.

“I do not think that…”

“Deaton will be there. You will be right outside the door. I know it is not usual to allow it, but I think they need a private moment, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Bennett’s voice sounded conflicted and unsure, “Yes, I think I can allow that.”

“Thank you. What do I owe you?”

“Nothing,” Bennett said, immediately, “Nothing. I just felt that I…” He stopped, “No payment for this.”

They had reached the edge of the Ludus sleeping quarters by that point, and the corridor to Deaton’s surgery branched away to the right.

As the other Gladiators that had been there that night turned in silence to their sleeping quarters, Stiles, Derek, Lydia, Jackson, Boyd, Erica and Bennett all stopped.

Stiles knew that this was where Jackson, Erica and Boyd were going to be leaving them. He was so grateful to Jackson; for taking control, for pushing Bennett’s decisions and even offering him payment to help him and Derek. He locked gaze with Jackson, not allowing himself to be embarrassed by what had just happened to him, not when Jackson was giving him no pity, no teasing; Jackson had been taken away to a bedroom himself that night, he knew what it felt like. He could relate to Stiles, so Stiles was determined to relate to him and not be miserable about an unavoidable circumstance.

“Thank you,” He said, earnestly. For the first time he truly understood what it would be like to have Jackson as a friend, and consider him as one. He finally saw what Lydia saw in him, and why Danny liked him so much. Underneath that cockiness, Jackson cared, deeply, for those he considered his friends.

Jackson shook his head, “Don’t mention it,” He held out his hand, big and broad, the Argent brand dark on his forearm.

Stiles reached a hand out from his blanket covering and shook it.

Jackson then used the same hand to clasp Derek’s shoulder, just looking at him for a long moment before he said, “I will see you in the morning, brother.”

Derek nodded, and Jackson then turned to Lydia. “Goodnight,” He said to her, and Stiles saw a vulnerability to Jackson he had not seen before, an openness with his emotion. He was upset about what had happened that night, and what she had had to see.

Lydia just tugged him down by wrapping a hand around the back of his neck and kissing him firmly, lovingly. “Goodnight, my love,” She whispered to him.

Jackson cleared his throat when they broke apart and he shifted awkwardly, before turning on his heel and walking away.

Erica moved in to wrap Stiles in a hug, as Boyd patted his shoulder, and then they in turn clasped Derek’s free arm, before moving away as well, Erica’s hand slipping into Boyd’s as they walked down the corridor.

“Let’s go,” Bennett said, motioning for Derek, Stiles and Lydia to lead the way to Deaton’s surgery.

Bennett did not seem the least bit surprised at Jackson and Lydia’s display of affection, or Erica and Boyd’s. He didn’t make comment on anything.

It was only when they reached Deaton’s surgery that he spoke. “I will be waiting out here for when you are done. Take the time you need.”

“Thanks,” Stiles told him, again, earnestly.

It made Stiles wonder where Bennett’s real allegiances lay. Bennett nodded, face set in a frown.

Deaton seemed concerned when they all walked in, and his check on Stiles was thorough.

“Derek was good with me,” Stiles insisted, as he lay awkwardly on the table. He’d asked Lydia and Derek to stay, and Lydia was holding his hand. Derek was leaning back against the wall opposite.

Stiles watched Deaton glance up at Derek before looking back at him again, “Even so, it is best just to check, Stiles. Particularly if it was your first time.”

At that Derek moved abruptly and began rummaging through one of the open drawers of Deaton’s supplies; focusing elsewhere.

Nobody mentioned it.

The check came back all clear.

Lydia pressed her lips to Stiles’ knuckles. “You are so brave,” She told him.

“Wow, Lydia,” Stiles clasped a hand to his chest, “When did I stop being crazy and foolish and start being brave?”

“Shut up,” Lydia admonished, smiling at him with shining eyes, “You are still stupid. But you have always been brave.” She let go of him and stood, stamping her foot angrily, “I cannot believe she allowed this to happen! That the Gladiators are forced to do it is disgusting enough but a house slave, Deaton! A virgin house slave! If Lord Christopher knew he would…”

“Can we stop discussing my virginity please?” Stiles grumbled, sitting himself up on the table. “And Lord Chris and Lady Allison can’t know. They would try and take me back. I won’t leave Scott. I won’t. I have made promises and I will not break them.”

“Stiles, I do not think that Scott…”

“No,” Stiles interrupted her, “Scott _does_ need me here. He needs me and I don’t want to leave him. And if it was up to me, he would not be finding out about tonight either, though I am sure he will hear of it one way or another.” He did not want to imagine what Scott’s reaction would be; the look on his face. Gods, it would hurt.

“Fine. Be stubborn,” Lydia huffed. She glanced between Stiles and Derek, and then looked at Deaton, “Do you think we could give Stiles and Derek a moment?”

Deaton nodded immediately. “I think we could.”

Deaton quietly exited the room, and Lydia followed, but not before she stopped in front of Derek.

“It is not just Stiles that is brave,” She said, clearly not expecting a response, because as soon as she said it she walked to the door to the adjoining room.

Stiles and Derek were left alone.

Stiles clasped his hands around his knees and glanced at Derek. Derek was staring at the floor.

“So,” Stiles said. Anything to break the silence.

“I’m sorry,” Derek said, eyes still fixed firmly away from Stiles.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Stiles answered immediately. Did Derek seriously blame himself? Derek had little if not less choice than Stiles in what happened. “It’s Kate and her delightful friends that are to blame. Not you.”

“I know that, it’s just I…” Derek looked lost for words, his face filled with anguish as he finally looked up at Stiles, “You were a virgin, Stiles. I took that away from you, and I am sorry.”

“Again with my virginity!” Stiles waved his arms around, desperate to try and make Derek feel less guilty about something that wasn’t his fault, “My virginity or recent lack thereof is my problem, not anybody else’s and to be quite honest it is the least of my worries.”

Derek took a step toward Stiles and the table he was sitting on, “But you did not get to lose it in the way you should have, or with a person you wanted to, and that isn’t fair.”

“None of this is fair! What you and Jackson and Erica and Boyd had to go through tonight, and I dread to think how many times before that, that isn’t fair! Just because I am a house slave and not a Were does not mean that my life and my freedom is any more important than yours, that my ‘purity’ and my body is any more precious than yours!”

Derek shook his head, and looked like he was about to argue, but Stiles had not finished. “And for another thing, whilst the situation tonight was wholly undesirable, the person I was with was not. Granted it was not how I’d imagined it would go between us, but I couldn’t help but…” Stiles trailed off, realising what he had just done; so eager to steamroll over Derek’s guilt that he had let his mouth run away with him. Stiles’ eyes widened and he jerked his head to the side, wondering just how the hell he was going to explain this one. His wide-eyed stare landed on Derek, and Derek was staring right back.

“What?” Derek asked.

“Erm…” Stiles pulled what must have been a terribly unflattering face as he pondered how best to dig himself out of the mess he had just landed himself in, but he then realised that Derek had not looked disgusted with him. In fact, Stiles would go as far as to dare to say that Derek looked…hopeful? Stiles clenched his teeth and decided that, seeing as he and Derek were at the very least tentative friends, and after the night that they had had, that Derek deserved a bit of honesty from him. He shrugged, feeling a little guilty himself, “Tonight, when you told me to imagine it was just us…it helped. It helped a lot because I may have imagined being with you once or twice. Or more than twice. And I feel terrible saying this when you didn’t choose this and there were those…” Stiles closed his eyes and shuddered, “Those fucking _people,_ but you made me feel safe, and you made it feel good. And I want to thank you for everything you did to help me, and, and I hope what I’ve said doesn’t make things awkward between us because I like talking to you, and…and I’ll shut up now.”

Derek was blinking at him, mouth agape.

Stiles clenched his jaw against saying any more, and flicked his eyes away, waiting for the dismissal, the questions, the judgement. He wrapped his arms tighter around his knees and propped his chin on them, curling himself into the rug around his shoulders a little more in the hopes of disappearing inside it and never having to deal with the outside world again.

“Stiles,” Derek finally spoke, his voice soft, “You…” He sounded confused. “You like me, like that?”

Stiles let out an astounded laugh, “I am surprised this is news to you. I thought I had made it pretty obvious.” He looked back up at Derek, who was looking almost comically bewildered. 

“I couldn’t tell if you were flirting or just enjoyed winding me up. You are always so snarky with me.”

“Sarcasm is my point of call for everything,” Stiles offered. “Including flirting, unfortunately. And unless being grumpy and faux-threatening is your flirting tactic then I don’t think you feel the same, and that is totally ok because I didn’t mean....”

Derek cleared his throat, and he moved his hand to rub at the back of his neck awkwardly.

Stiles’ mouth dropped open. “You were? You were flirting with me?!”

“Says you,” Derek raised an eyebrow, “Calling me ‘Sour Wolf’ all the time.”

“I was trying to make you smile! I happen to very much appreciate your smile. I wish you would do it more often, as I definitely have told you.”

“Yes, you did tell me that,” Derek admitted, and there was a sudden shyness in his posture and on his face; a little pleased smile that Stiles did not think was intended for him, but he had the privilege of witnessing it anyway.

“Well I meant it.”

“Well, I quite like your smile too,” Derek countered, and Stiles could not help but smile hopefully in return. Derek shifted, avoiding eye contact, “I look forward to meeting you in the house and when you’re not there…” He stopped. He visibly took a deep breath, and finally looked Stiles in the eye, “I am so sorry they did this to you.”

Stiles’ smile wobbled a little. He reached out for Derek’s hand and was relieved when Derek instantly took it, and held onto it tightly. He held Derek’s gaze as he said, “And I’m sorry that they have done this to you, for however long they have done it for,” His voice broke off in a whisper, and he felt that crippling sorrow for his new friends once more; how often had they been forced to endure evenings like that? All for the sake of entertainment and Kate’s reputation as hostess? “I’m sorry.”

Derek moved to perch next to Stiles on the table, keeping a hold of his hand. They sat in silence for a moment. “There’s nothing we can really do about it in the short term,” Derek said eventually, “Not about them. There’s nothing either of us can do about her and them, really.”

Stiles looked up at Derek questioningly, surprised that Derek did not sound anywhere near as defeated as that statement warranted. He had phrased it suggestively, and Stiles hoped he had correctly read between the lines.

“And what about us?” Stiles asked hopefully, “Is there something we can do about us?”

Derek smiled, pleased, and it had clearly been what he had been hoping for Stiles to say, but almost as quickly, his smile dropped and he looked anguished again.

“I don’t know,” Derek ran his free hand through his hair, clutching at the dark strands, but his other hand remained steadfastly in Stiles’. “I want there to be, but I’m being selfish,” He looked upset and angry with himself all at once, and it made Stiles wish for the smile to return. “I can’t do this to you. If anything happened between us and she found out…” Derek shook his head, eyes shutting, his hand relentless in tugging at his hair. “I won’t put you in that danger.”

“Hey,” Stiles interrupted, attempting to reach Derek’s other hand and release it from his hair, “Hey,” Stiles said again, poking Derek in the shoulder until he looked at him again. “You wouldn’t be putting me in any danger. It would be my choice to make, and I would choose you. If you want me.”

Derek stared at him as though he didn’t quite believe him, but the hand Derek had had in his hair finally dropped.

“I want,” was all Derek said, his voice rough, but sure. It had a longing to it that flabbergasted Stiles, who had, before that night, thought that his pining for Derek over the last couple of months had been entirely one-sided.

“And I want,” Stiles promised. Because oh gods, he did. He really, really did want Derek. Determined not to let this opportunity go now, lest it slide through his fingers the second Derek let go of his hand and had to leave the room, and inevitably talked himself out of the whole thing in an attempt to play martyr, Stiles gently tugged Derek forward. The kiss that Stiles pressed to Derek’s lips was short and sweet, innocent. He did not linger too long before pulling back to gauge Derek’s reaction.

Derek was near cross eyed in his attempt to watch Stiles back, and it was ridiculously adorable. A compliment Stiles had never expected to pay to the country’s current champion Alpha Gladiator.

“And that was something I got to choose for myself,” Stiles told Derek, after taking a breath. When Derek looked confused again, Stiles explained, feeling a little self-conscious of the fact, but eager to reassure Derek in any way he could; “That was my first kiss.”

Derek’s lips parted in an ‘oh’ of realisation, his eyes flicking back and forth across Stiles’ face, as though trying to take it all in. Stiles knew that Derek would not tease him, but he still felt a little embarrassed, twisting his fingers in Derek’s grasp and biting his lip.

The way Derek’s eyes followed the movement of Stiles’ teeth on his lower lip proved that Stiles had little to worry about, but he understood why Derek was being wary. Why he was afraid to start anything, because of the risks that continuing would hold.

“I don’t think we should be hasty in making any decisions,” Derek said finally, “Not for something like this.”

They had been through a lot that night, and Stiles knew that they probably weren’t in the right frames of mind for any important decisions, let alone one as life-changing as that.

“We can think on it?” Stiles suggested, “We can take some time to think about it separately, and make sure we are certain that we want to take the risk?”

As much as Stiles wanted to throw caution to the wind and be with Derek no matter the dangers involved, there were other factors to consider. There was a high chance of discovery, and Stiles had Scott to protect, just as Derek had Peter, and possibly others that Kate was using against him. It needed proper deliberation, and right then was not the time to make any decisions.

Derek nodded gratefully, and was about to reply when a knock on the door startled them both. It opened a moment later and Lydia poked her auburn head through the gap, “Derek, Stiles and I had best be getting back to the house.”

Derek gave a sharp nod in acknowledgment, “Just one moment, please, then I will go.”

Lydia did not argue. She left them alone again, closing the door behind her.

Derek looked back at Stiles, and Stiles watched those hazel-green eyes, waiting for whatever it was that Derek still wanted to say.

“If I was to try and arrange a way for us to spend some more time together, and get to know a bit more about each other before we make any decisions, would you want to?”

“I would,” Stiles said, his lips curling up into a smile. He wanted to get to know the man beside him, because truthfully, they didn't really know that much about each other at all. They had never been given the opportunity. “I would like that.”

Derek finally smiled back, and the next thing Stiles knew, Derek had leant down to kiss him, careful and gentle, and when Stiles’ lips parted on a gasp, Derek teased them with his own. It felt like far too short a time before Derek was pulling away, and left Stiles stunned to silence.

“I thought you might like your second kiss,” Derek explained, smiling at Stiles’ speechless reaction, “Goodnight, Stiles.”

Stiles finally found his words to respond; “Goodnight, Derek.” He sent Derek a small smile, which was tired but hopeful, and Derek reached out and squeezed his hand, lifting it to press Stiles’ knuckles to his lips, before turning away.

Stiles watched him go, and found himself sad to see him go. The moment Derek left the room, Lydia returned.

She smiled at him, though it did not reach her eyes, which were failing to hide her concern. “Let’s get you dressed.”

Stiles obediently slid off the table with only the slightest of winces, keeping the cloth held tightly around his middle. Lydia wordlessly handed over Stiles’ clothes, and averted her eyes as he turned around and dressed himself.

“So,” Lydia said. Stiles couldn’t see her but he could hear the interest in her voice, and could imagine her attempt at keeping an indifferent expression. “Did you and Derek figure things out?”

Stiles shrugged, even though she wouldn’t see the gesture, “Tonight wasn’t anybody’s fault but Kate and her guests. There was nothing to figure out, really. We’re good.”

“Not even figuring out that you are into each other?”

Stiles could not hold back the strangled noise of surprise that escaped him, and he pulled the rest of his clothes on lightning fast, spinning around to face her. “Excuse me?”

“You and Derek clearly like each other.”

“How would you know?” Stiles’ defensive question came out too high pitched for even him to take seriously, “You have barely even seen us together.” Stiles suddenly felt his ears and cheeks start burning as he remembered just how Lydia had seen them together. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

Seemingly eager not to let him slide back into his own head, Lydia barrelled on, “I do talk to people, Stiles; Jackson, Danny, Matt. And they aren’t blind. Jackson is far more observant than he acts.”

“Well that’s good,” Stiles snarked back half-heartedly, still wanting to be defensive, but no longer holding any sort of ill-feeling towards Jackson. “Because he really does a convincing job.”

“Hey!” Lydia threw his sandals at him, grinning. “Watch it.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Stiles held his hands up faux-defensively with a sheepish smile.

Lydia seemed relieved that Stiles was joking and smiling again after what had happened to him that night, and she smiled back fondly as she rolled her eyes, “He says he’s seen you two making eyes at each other. He says Derek sees you in the house sometimes. Danny and Matt say you can backchat Derek like no-one else would ever be able to get away with. What more evidence do we need?”

“Well I hadn’t picked up on it,” Stiles admitted, bending to pull his sandals onto his feet.

Lydia gave a quiet squeal of glee, “So it is true then?”

Stiles tied his first sandal and started on the second, “We have realised a few things, just now.”

“Uh-huh,” Lydia asked, hushed and inquisitive, “And what are you going to do about it?”

Stiles frowned at his feet, and then up at his friend, “What happened to the ‘you don’t know the _Undefeated Alpha_ like we do’ intimidation spiel?”

Lydia held out her hand and Stiles took it, and she pulled him upright, “I didn’t want you to make an enemy of Derek. You needed to respect him. He is a good man, but he holds a grudge as well as anyone.”

“I don’t blame him, to be honest,” Stiles said. He did not know Derek’s story, or how he and Peter had gotten to the Ludus in the first place. But he knew the man he was now, and he knew what Derek had to endure from Kate.

“No, none of us do,” Lydia said, and it was a weighted statement, spoken from experiences that the rest of the household and Ludus had shared long before Stiles had arrived. “So, how are you and he going to resolve the dilemma?”

“Wait,” Stiles held his hands out dramatically, “You aren’t going to tell me I would be foolish and an idiot to pursue this?”

“If I did I would be a hypocrite,” She dismissed immediately. “You will have to be careful of course, just as I have to be, but if you and he think there is something worth giving a chance, then it will be worth the chance. Trust me.” Lydia moved forward to give Stiles’ arm a squeeze, but he looped it around her in a hug instead. “You deserve to be happy as much as anybody,” She spoke into his shoulder, “And nobody deserves a bit of happiness as much as Derek does.”

Stiles could not agree more, but when he pulled back he said, “We aren’t eager to jump into anything without being one hundred percent certain. We have to be sure we will be able to protect Scott and Peter and the rest of you if we did decide to start anything. Derek asked if I was open to spending some more time with him, getting to know each other better before we make any decisions.”

“It’s sensible,” She looked up at him with a sly grin, “So definitely Derek’s idea.”

He knocked her with his shoulder, mock-wounded, before steering her towards the door. “Bennett will be waiting.”

“Yes, we had best be getting back in case the party starts wrapping up. We don’t want her to notice.”

Stiles swallowed, a lump reforming in his throat, and Lydia linked her arm firmly through his, attempting once again to take his mind off the party and its repulsive guests; “If you two need any help in organising a meet in private, let me know, and I can do what I can. Jackson can help with it too.”

“Derek appeared to have some kind of plan in mind,” Stiles said, “But thank you.”

Both of them dropped the subject as they opened the door of the medical room.

Deaton and Bennett were having a low discussion of their own on the other side of the door.

“Stiles,” Deaton smiled at him kindly when the door opened, “Are you alright?”

“I’m ok,” Stiles nodded, acting braver than he felt. “Thanks for your help, Doc.”

Deaton waved his thanks aside. “As far as I am concerned, my help should not have been needed in the first place. But if either of you – or any of the house slaves – ever need my help in the future, please do not hesitate to ask me.”

Lydia and Stiles nodded their thanks.

Bennett, who had remained silent through the exchange, gestured for Lydia and Stiles to lead the way back to the main house.

The walk through the Ludus was quiet and uneventful. They left Bennett at the gate to the house. The party was still ongoing. Stiles could hear conversation float through the halls and he could feel the hair on his arms and the back of his neck stand on end at the sound of it. Kira, Matt and Danny appeared to still be serving the guests, as the slave quarters were empty. The rooms were far enough away from the party that Stiles could no longer hear it, and for that he was grateful, and his heart rate slowed a little.

Lydia tucked Stiles into bed and kissed his cheek, before slipping from the room.

Stiles stared into the darkness for a moment or two, still in shock from the night’s events; terrified of the future, but hopeful now too, because of Derek and the kindness of his new friends. It did not take exhaustion long to take a hold of him. He did not dream.

***

 

Derek woke the next morning gasping for air, the scent of burning shooting fear through his bones, until he finally realised that it was just scent-memory from the all too familiar nightmare he had been lost in. He lay in the dark of his solitary cell, panting up at the ceiling.

When his breathing had levelled and the memory of pain-stricken and terrified screams finally faded away, Derek slid his gaze from the ceiling to the thick wooden door. He could see early daylight through the barred window in the door. He had slept late, and the wake-up call would be at any moment, but considering what he had had to endure the night before, he reckoned he earned a bit of a rest. There was no noise from inside the Ludus just yet, so he had a little time to himself.

His thoughts drifted to Stiles of their own volition. When Kate’s guest had drawn attention to Stiles the first time the previous night, Derek had feared that that would not have been the end of it. He had been utterly devastated when Kate had accepted the man’s terms later in the night, and let him have any sway in how the night had proceeded. Kate was normally too domineering to allow that. Either the guests were people she was desperate to impress, or she thought it would make fitting punishment for either Derek or Stiles. Most likely, it would have been to put Stiles in his place. It was that thought that had held Derek back from responding as he had wanted to to Stiles’ kiss afterward, in Deaton’s medical room. He needed to make sure that Stiles was positive that he wanted to take any risk on Derek, and Stiles also needed to understand that Kate considered Derek hers, and just because Derek had feelings for Stiles, it did not mean that Derek would be able to stop being ordered to Kate’s rooms. Derek knew that that alone could potentially arouse Stiles’ apparent rebelliousness, and cause even more punishment for him from Kate. Derek did not want to see Stiles hurt any further. So he needed Stiles to understand exactly what he was getting himself into, and who with, before Stiles made a decision.

For Derek, it would not be as much of a hard decision. He wanted Stiles. He found Stiles exciting, and amusing, and annoying as all hell, but apparently that was what Derek found attractive, because he did not ever remember a time when he had ‘crushed’ on someone as he had Stiles. Stiles was beautiful, too; big amber eyes, distracting lips and a slightly upturned nose. His shorn hair made him look his age, but it was starting to grow out a little, and Derek was hopeful that Kate would allow Stiles to grow it out, so that Derek could run his fingers through it properly. Stiles’ body was a contrast to Derek’s, but one Derek found infinitely more attractive on men than sculpted, muscle-heavy physiques; Stiles was lithe with wiry muscle, his pale skin mole-dotted and tempting. Derek had also had a taste of him the night before; two kisses that had warmed Derek through, because it had been a long time since he had been kissed by anybody but Kate, which meant he had not been kissed for a long time by anyone who truly cared for him, and who he truly cared for. He wanted more of those kisses. Derek was eager to learn more about Stiles, and spend time with him, something which Derek was already planning on how to arrange.

The previous night, whilst ending in the eye-opening revelation for the pair of them, had also been traumatic. Derek was not looking forward to facing some of the other _Wolves_ that day. He did not know what they would say or how they would act. He did not know what Peter would say. Most of the time he could rely on the majority of the _Wolves_ for their loyalty against Kate, but it would not be the first time they decided to make remarks on how Kate favoured Derek. Derek had been called _‘Argent’s Whore’_ one too many times.

It had been painful, knowing that Stiles’ first time was a forced situation in front of a whole crowd of strangers and friends and enemies, and that Derek was going to have to be the one to take that from him. Derek was used to being brought out and paraded in front of Kate’s guests, and sent off into a bedroom with the highest bidder, or eventually Kate herself. But he was not used to public displays, and it had been even harder doing it with Stiles, with, as far as Derek had been aware, one-sided feelings. It had made Derek feel somewhat relieved afterward when Stiles had told him that it had felt good, despite everything, and that he had felt guilty for enjoying it, because that was exactly what Derek had experienced as well. Stiles had been pliant underneath him, easily covered by Derek as Derek shielded him from the rest of the room, to protect him from the hungry gazes. Derek had tasted the sweat on the back of Stiles’ neck, and had heard the small sounds that Stiles had tried to stifle. He wanted to experience Stiles in private. He wanted to hear and see that Stiles wanted him back, in the privacy of an isolated room.

And if Derek managed to get them some time together alone, then they would have access to a private room. On all nights but the full moon, Derek and Peter and some of the more experienced _Wolves_ , like Smith and Jackson, were housed in small private cells, with single beds, a small wooden chest, a table for the washing basin, and a lavatory. They were small and minimal and they made Derek miss his old bedroom that he had shared with his two brothers back before the house fire, but his current room was better than the cells lined with hay, and it was private. A thick wooden door blocked Derek from the outside world, despite the small barred window in the wood, and as long as he was locked in, Derek was alone.

It was not for the first time that Derek found himself grateful for a private room, as Derek’s hand moved steadily down his stomach, heel of his palm pushing flat and sure, until he reached under the thin sheet over his waist and he wrapped his hand around his cock. Thoughts of Stiles descended as he began to move his hand, and although this was not the first time that Derek had gotten off to thoughts of the younger man, this time, knowing that Stiles also liked him in return, the thoughts made him feel less guilty. He thought of all the things he and Stiles could do alone, and how freeing it would be to be with someone who wanted to be with _him_ , and not just assert some twisted power-play. He thought of Stiles’ sinful lips, and how those eyes would look looking up at him.

It did not take Derek long to come, biting into the side of his free hand so that the sound he made as he came escaped as nothing more than a shallow grunt. He lay still, panting up at the ceiling for the second time that morning, but this time for an entirely different reason.

He was interrupted from his haze by the banging on doors further down the corridor.

“Wake-up call!” One of the guards shouted, banging on each door he passed, as was routine.

Derek sighed, and rolled off the bed. He walked to the small table in the corner of the room and grabbed his wash cloth, wiping his hand, before pouring himself a clean basin of water. Today was going to be like any other day, but things had also changed for him overnight. He dreaded facing the other _Wolves,_ but he looked forward to seeing Stiles and his friends, and that was enough to encourage him out of his room for the day.

Derek finally left his room, clean, washed and dressed in fresh combat gear; leather strapped pants, and brown leather chest armour, tugging his collar around his neck in his usual nervous tick.

He found Peter waiting for him. “Derek,” Peter said.

“Peter,” Derek greeted, wary, only to be pulled into a brief hug. Derek was surprised, but did not pull away. He missed family contact like nothing else, and any opportunity when his uncle was affectionate with him he welcomed with open arms. Derek buried his head into Peter’s shoulder and breathed in the smell of home, still not gone after all those years. Peter was only older than Derek by ten years, but Derek always needed his support, and his guidance, even if he didn’t show it all the time. Even despite Peter’s tendency to be scheming, he trusted Peter like nobody else, because apart from Laura and Cora, who were gods knew where, Peter was the only family he had to rely on.

Peter pulled back eventually, arms still anchored on Derek’s shoulders, and he inspected him closely, keen, pale eyes darting over Derek’s face, taking him in.

“I heard what happened,” Peter told him.

Peter was hardly ever brought up to the house when Kate hosted parties. Kate considered Peter too volatile and unpredictable to be trusted with high class guests.

“Are you alright?” Peter asked him, and it was sincere.

Derek smiled tightly and nodded, swallowing hard to avoid getting too emotional. “I’m alright.”

Peter looked dubious. “One day, we will get one over on that bitch, and I’ll let you be the one to kill her. I promise you that.”

“You always promise me that.”

“It is smart to bide our time,” Peter shrugged, never deterred from the mental-image of Kate getting her comeuppance; a fate that Derek knew logically was a near impossibility. “Are you any closer to getting hold of the keys?”

Derek had tried to look for the keys to the collars a hundred times when in her rooms, but he had to do it discreetly, and Kate was cautious. She did not suspect him, he did not think, but she was still wary, and so she hid them well, and Derek had so far, and knew he would likely always be, unsuccessful.

Derek shook his head, “I am still working on it.”

“I know,” Peter squeezed his shoulder before releasing him and leading the way to the dining hall; the corridor had been deserted for their hug, as all the other _Wolves_ had already left their rooms for their morning meals.

“How was Stiles, afterward?” Peter asked.

“He was ok,” Derek replied vaguely, “Angry at Kate mostly, as he always seems to be.”

“I like that boy.”

“I know you do.” Derek knew Peter was highly amused and intrigued by Stiles; he had told him as much before. It had surprised Derek at first, because Peter did not tolerate many people, but he figured that maybe it was because Stiles was so openly rebellious and hating of the cruelty of the system, that Peter could do nothing but understand Stiles’ anger.

“Scott is going to be furious when he finds out, you know.”

“I know,” Derek sighed.

If it was up to him, Scott would never have to know. Scott had not been at the party the previous night because he was too new a Were to be trusted. But one day he had no doubt Scott could be standing next to him on a platform, ogled at by Kate’s ‘friends’. It made him feel sick.  But news travelled fast in the Ludus, and it was inevitable Scott would hear of it. Derek had to be ready to make sure Scott didn’t do anything foolish when that time came, if Scott hadn’t found out already.

“What are the _Wolves_ saying about it, Uncle?”

Peter threw him a sideways look, “They are keeping their mouths shut, because it wasn’t anything that they haven’t been through themselves at one point or another.”

Derek had no doubt Peter would enforce that rule on anyone who dared to think otherwise. Peter could be a borderline psychopath, sometimes, and was far too gleeful in bloody battle in the arena, Derek could not deny that, but his loyalty to his family was fiercer than anything Derek had ever known.

That thought made Derek think of their family, their pack. Broken and left to the ashes. And the want for that pack bond gave him the courage to finally voice something he had been thinking about for some time, whilst Peter appeared to be in a protective and caring mood;

“Peter,” He started, slowly, tone suggesting rather than demanding, “I think we should sit with Jackson at mealtimes today.”

“Jackson?” Peter asked.

Derek had chosen Jackson, because of all the _Wolves_ Betas, Jackson was the one Peter most respected.

“But it wouldn’t just be Jackson.” Peter stated slowly, “Jackson sits with Scott, Erica, Isaac and Boyd.” He was watching Derek out of the corner of his eye again, “And the human slaves, if they are down for meal times today,” Peter slowed his pace as they neared the entrance to the dining hall, “You want to sit with them?”

“I thought a show of solidarity would be good for them. I thought it might be good for us.”

Peter was clearly calculating the pros and cons in his head, because he fell silent for a moment. Finally, he spoke again, “You think they are forming a group. The beginnings of a pack?”

“But that’s impossible, isn’t it? Because of the collars and the unnatural system of the Ludus?”

Peter shook his head, “Not necessarily.”

The idea that the unnatural number of alphas in one shared space with pack-free betas, and the suppression of their powers by collars, did not necessarily rule out the opportunity of forming a pack, had Derek’s heart quickening hopefully.

“Would you want to be a part of that?” Derek asked. He would not do anything without his family at his side. “Part of a group again?”

“I trust your judgement, Nephew. If you think we would do well to stick together, and to have stronger allegiances with our fellows, then I will support you. Kate will grow suspicious eventually, I have no doubt about that, because the guards will surely notice if they haven’t already. But other than that I do not see any major disadvantages in doing so at the present time, so yes, I will join you.”

Derek reached out to squeeze Peter’s arm in thanks, and then they entered the dining hall.

It was perfect timing, because the moment that Derek’s eyes settled on Jackson, Boyd, Erica, Isaac and Scott, their heads all bowed together over the table they were sitting at, Scott was springing to his feet, and surging with remarkable speed towards the sands, which sat below the balcony of Kate’s rooms.

“They have just told him,” Peter warned the obvious, as Jackson shouted something after Scott, and Isaac and Boyd were up and after him.

Derek beat them to it. He quickly circled the hall and intercepted Scott just as he broke free of the tables and benches and reached the edge of the sands.

“Scott,” Derek said, tone low and warning as he watched the guards finally take notice of Scott’s unusual behaviour.

Scott didn’t say anything, so ended up crashing straight into Derek as Derek moved neatly into his path.

“Scott,” Derek hissed again, holding Scott still, “What are you doing?”

Scott looked more dangerous than Derek had ever seen him. His eyes were blazing and his face was set in fury. “I’m going to kill her,” Scott said, in a low growl that vibrated through Derek in its intensity.

It was a quiet statement, but it still had Derek glancing around quickly to make sure none of the guards had heard it. He watched Isaac and Boyd close in cautiously, not wanting to cause too much of a scene. Jackson had caught Erica’s wrist to keep her at the table, presumably for the same reason. Peter was watching them from across the hall in obvious interest.

“I know you are angry, Scott, and you have every reason to be angry, but this isn’t the way to solve it. There will be nothing you can do, and it will just get you killed, and what will Stiles and your mother do then? Think of them, Scott, before you do anything foolish.”

Scott let out an anguished whine, and pushed with a new strength against Derek, which had Derek struggling with him for the briefest millisecond, skidding backwards a step onto the sands before using his physical prowess to halt Scott again.

The moment Scott was effectively forced immobile, he let out another broken sound and looked back up at Derek with eyes brimming with tears, “If it wasn’t for me, Stiles wouldn’t even be here. He wouldn’t have had to…had to…oh gods…” His words were thick with emotion, and Derek cupped Scott’s jaw authoritatively, turning them so that Scott had his back to the rest of the _Wolves,_ so that none of them could see Scott’s break down.

“How are you not angry? For what she did to you?” Scott asked, small and so very sad that Derek’s chest constricted.

“I am always angry,” Derek told him, “I just hide it well, because I know that shouting and causing a scene is not the way to deal with it. I spoke to Stiles last night, afterward, Scott, I was with him afterwards. He is ok. He isn’t physically hurt, and no doubt Kate will let him come down at lunchtime today so that you can see for yourself so you know there is nothing to kick up a fuss about.”

Scott finally relaxed in Derek’s hold, “I will never forgive myself for getting him caught up in this.”

“And he would never forgive you for blaming yourself,” Derek said, and he knew it was true. Stiles protected Scott as Derek protected his own family. “I’m sorry that you had to hear about it as you have, but I am also glad, for Stiles’ sake and your own, that you weren’t there last night.”

“You looked after him, the others said, afterwards.”

Derek nodded, “I did.”

Scott gave him a tiny, wobbly smile, “Thanks for taking care of him when I couldn’t.”

“Enough of that,” Derek scolded. “Now, we are going to sit, nice and calm, and finish breakfast, and those guards will have nothing to report back to Kate, and then Stiles might be allowed to come down and see you at midday. Yes?”

“Are you going to sit with us?” Scott asked, catching onto Derek’s phrasing.

Derek was not going to get a better opportunity. “If you don’t mind me and Peter joining you?”

He looked at Isaac and Boyd over Scott’s shoulder, who had also heard the exchange. Isaac nodded eagerly and Boyd gave him a single, respectful nod.

Scott sniffed, but looked pleased, “Of course,” He said, taking a step back, “You don’t need to ask.”

Derek jerked his head at Peter in a motion to follow, and he, Scott, Isaac and Boyd returned to the table Jackson and Erica were sitting at.

“Hells, Newbie,” Jackson stated, “You had me worried then.”

“Sorry,” Scott looked embarrassed but still terribly upset as he returned to his seat next to Erica.

To Jackson and Erica’s credit, they did not look the least surprised when Derek and Peter sat down at the table on the other side of Scott.

“Nice of you to finally join us,” was all Jackson commented, “It’s about damn time we had some authority amongst this lot.”

“I take offence to that,” Erica told him, and it descended into a bickering match that had Derek smiling into his porridge at the old familiarity of it.

***

Derek was not surprised, but also very glad to see that Kate had let Stiles down to the Ludus with Matt and Danny to serve lunch that day.

Derek saw the house slaves setting up the serving table before Scott did.

“Jackson,” Derek said, effectively ceasing his battle practice opponent.

Jackson took one glance towards the food hall and understood, taking Derek’s sword from him and returning them both to the weapons rack.

“Newbie,” Jackson caught Scott’s attention, and Scott and Isaac’s own practicing halted abruptly. Scott then noticed Stiles, and looked ready to sprint across the sands.

“Don’t go straight there,” Derek warned him again, “Don’t make a scene. Wait your turn.”

Scott nodded and obeyed, although he looked ready to bolt to his best friend’s side. They kept him distracted until the experienced Gladiators had gotten their own food, before finally Derek nodded to Scott, and he took off across the sands.

By the time Derek, Jackson and Isaac reached them, Scott had gotten Stiles wrapped up in an all-consuming hug, murmuring apologies and words of comfort into Stiles’ ear. Stiles looked watery eyed as he looked up at Derek and Jackson over Scott’s shoulder.

Derek left them to it, pushing Jackson in the direction of Danny and Matt, who were watching Stiles and Scott with their own fixed expressions of sympathy and anger at what had come to pass the night before. Derek got his food, and went straight to the table to join the others, glancing up at Scott and Stiles to see Stiles finally break from Scott’s grasp, and reach up to tenderly wipe Scott’s tears from his cheeks.

Words were exchanged between them, and then finally they made their way across the hall with their own lunches, to join them at the table.

Stiles, red eyed but clearly eager to act as normal, raised an eyebrow at Derek and Peter’s presence at the table.

“The Majesties Hale come to dine with the commoners, huh? To what do we owe the honour?”

Peter grinned with all his teeth, and Derek had to refrain from rolling his eyes. “We thought we should grace you all with our presence. There has been too little Alpha presence amongst these Betas,” Peter quipped.

“And too many house slaves, no doubt,” Stiles winked at Danny and sat down next to Scott, and opposite Derek. Scott moved so close to him that he was pressed all up along Stiles’ side, but Stiles did not seem to mind in the slightest.

Peter shrugged, “You add a bit of spice to the mix,” He dismissed, and Derek was taken aback at his Uncle paying a compliment.

Stiles looked surprised too, his gaze flicking to Derek, before he cracked into a grin. “My, my, Peter, we learn new things about you every day.”

“Well let’s hope you don’t learn everything,” Peter said, and although no-one else picked up the weight to those words, Derek did. He wondered what it could be that Peter was keeping from him this time.

The conversation at the table flowed freely, though the topic of the night before was almost too obviously skirted to make it comfortable. Everyone was treading carefully with what they said, but Derek could imagine in a week or two, that that unease would settle, and that they could truly enjoy themselves as a group. There were seven Weres and two humans at lunch that day; the largest group in the dining hall by five people. It was eventually going to get reported to Kate, and inevitably she would attempt to put a stop to it, so Derek was determined to enjoy it whilst it lasted.

Derek glanced up from his bread roll to find Stiles watching him. Derek felt his lips automatically curl into a small smile, which was unusual for him, and Stiles’ eyes lit up.

“You are very quiet, _Undefeated Alpha,_ ” Stiles said, knocking his foot into Derek’s under the table, grinning at him cheekily, and Derek immediately knew that Stiles’ feelings from the previous night had not changed, that their rapport had not been shattered. “Do you not have anything worthwhile to add to the conversation?”

“As worthwhile as anything you are adding, it is just that I know when my input is needed.”

Stiles’ mouth dropped open and he guffawed, his foot knocking into Derek’s again as everybody burst into laughter.

It was at that very moment that Derek knew that he definitely, without a doubt, wanted to pursue what was blossoming between him and Stiles. It could come crashing spectacularly down around them, but it could also be the best thing to happen to Derek since he was fifteen years old, and Derek was not going to let that opportunity slide, if Stiles wanted him, too. And from the fond look Stiles was giving him from across the table, he knew that Stiles did, in fact, want him too.

Maybe, finally, things were starting to look up.


	5. Chapter 5

Allison Argent could remember the exact date, the exact moment, when she had realised she had fallen in love with Scott McCall. It had been the silliest of occasions, as well. They had been thirteen years old, and it was a Sunday morning in the mid-summer. She had been sitting in the gardens, a cool drink in hand, as she watched Scott and Stiles tend to the garden, or rather attempt to, amidst childish tomfoolery.

Scott had tripped Stiles up, and Stiles had flailed and fallen backwards, right over a shrubbery, and Allison had burst out laughing. Scott had looked up at her, delighted at the sound of her laughter, his dopey but adorable lopsided smile plastered on his face, and it had just hit her, suddenly. After all those years she had spent with Scott, after growing up together and despite the class difference, she suddenly realised it. She had always been extremely fond of him, but it was not until that moment that she had realised that that fondness was, in fact, love. And although it should have worried her, that she had fallen in love with one of the family servants, it didn’t. It felt like the most natural thing in the world. In fact, it felt like she should have known long ago. It surprised her that it had only just dawned on her at that exact moment.

“I was considering branching out of solely fighting Werewolves,” Her Aunt Kate was telling Allison’s father.

Allison returned her attention to the conversation. Kate had invited Allison and her father to the Ludus with the promise of allowing Allison and Melissa to see Scott and Stiles. Kate had not said what the reason was for the sudden kind gesture, but Allison assumed it was because Kate wanted Allison’s father to agree to take care of the Ludus the next night so that Kate could go out, and she was using Scott and Stiles as bribery.  

Allison had wanted to see them immediately on arrival, but her aunt had not sent for them, instead showing Allison and her father to one of her many luxurious lounges, and had had drinks poured for them. Allison had been sitting impatiently ever since, her drink untouched. She glanced at Melissa, standing quietly in the background, and wondered how she must have been feeling right at that moment, desperate to see her son, having not seen him since before his first fight in the arena.

Allison pushed down her impatience, and turned back to her aunt, who appeared none the wiser to Allison’s distraction, too busy speaking to Allison’s father about her stupid Ludus.

“I have heard that Were-Panther fights are getting more popular,” Kate continued, “And there is some feral Were-Coyote girl in the fighting pits that has been gaining a great deal of interest. There have even been rumours of a colony of Hellhounds existing overseas. Imagine, Chris, how spectacular a Hellhound battle could be.”

Allison only just stopped her lip from curling in disgust, and she looked to her father, who remained stony faced and unimpressed.

“And what does father have to say about these grand ideas of yours?” Her father asked.

Kate laughed lightly before taking a sip of her drink. “I have not consulted with him, yet. But if gaining a bit of diversity amongst the Gladiators raises our reputation and prowess even further, I do not see what he would have to object about.”

“The fact that we only know the power-suppression collars work for Werewolves, for a start,” Her father reminded Kate.

“They can be amended,” Kate said dismissively, waving a hand flippantly. “If we can figure it out for Werewolves we can figure it out for other species. I have been speaking to some other Ludus owners and there had been some interest in…”

Allison blocked her Aunt out again, unwilling to hear much more. For all that her mother, aunt and grandfather hated Werewolves and other supernatural creatures, Allison did not share their hatred. She knew that it was because she saw Supernaturals as people, whereas her family saw them as little more than beasts ruled by their animalistic natures. Allison’s father was more understanding, but he still held dislike for them, which he always said was because of ‘personal experience’.

It did not make sense, because Scott had been bitten, but he was still the same person. He had been human before the bite, and he was still human afterward. He had not changed, not really. He had gained some powers, but as a person he was no different. He still loved her, she was sure of it. And she still loved him. She always would.

She remembered their first kiss. She had pulled him into her rooms when they had been fourteen, and before he could protest she had smiled at him and pressed a chaste, shy kiss to his lips. The smile he had sent her once their lips had parted was as bright as the sun, and that had been the first kiss of many. She remembered their first night together, when her parents and Melissa and Stiles had been asleep. They had been sixteen. Scott had been nervous, but so had she. It was not so much the worry of being a disappointment, but more the fear of being discovered; of one day being torn apart.

She knew that Stiles knew that they loved each other, but she did not think even he knew about their nights together.

“Jonah is adamant, of course,” Kate was saying, and Allison zoned back into the conversation again, “That his _Alpha Pack_ from the _Alpha Ludus_ are a match for my _Lupus Ludus Wolves._ But I think he has severely narrowed potential by focusing solely on Alphas. It means he misses out on gaining status in the Beta classes in the arena, and only has his Alpha fights to rely on. Granted, his Alphas are excellent; Deucalion is often underestimated because of his disability and being older than many other Weres still fighting, but he is still one of the best natural fighters the arena has seen.” Kate looked at Allison’s father pointedly, “I think Jonah forgets, however, that it was father that made Deucalion the fighter he is, before he sold him on to him. If father had not blinded _The_ _Demon Wolf,_ Deucalion would not have become reliant on his other senses, and he would most likely not be the successful Gladiator that he is today. His blindness proved to be an asset, and the proof is in _The Demon Wolf_ still being alive after all this time and winning fight after fight,” She paused, looking thoughtful, “I had wondered, at one point, whether to try it with Derek back when he was a young Beta, to see if he would fight better without his eyesight, but I am glad that I decided against it, because I am not sure whether he would have become the _Undefeated Alpha_ without it.”

Allison suppressed the urge to shudder. Learning that her Grandfather had once blinded a Were just to see if his skills in the arena would be improved or hindered by the loss of one of his key senses, and that her Aunt had then once considered doing the same to Derek, made Allison feel sick.

Her father had apparently heard enough too. He did not find the joy in the Ludus that Kate did, hence why he had turned down his father’s offer of becoming Ludus Dominus and had allowed Kate to take the mantle. In most ways, Allison was glad that her father had refused the Ludus, but she also could not help but wonder if the Gladiators and house slaves would have led better lives without her Aunt Kate in charge. Her aunt had begged for the Ludus for years before Allison’s grandfather had planned to give it up, and had been highly involved in the running of the Ludus, whilst Allison’s father had focused himself on other pursuits. She remembered how angry her aunt had been when her grandfather had offered the Ludus to her father first, and had remembered how Kate had shouted and ranted about being the only one capable enough to run the Ludus as it should be.

“Speaking of Alphas,” her father said, frowning at his sister, “Has there been any further news about the rogue Were that bit Scott? Because I have been listening out for any news and nothing has been forthcoming. For Scott to have been turned, the rogue Were needed to be an Alpha. And it is not often that an Alpha is able to hide in plain sight. Betas find that easier, but they cannot turn a human. I had been expecting news of a stray Alpha to have arisen by now, but,” her father shrugged, “Nothing.”

Allison noticed that her father was watching Kate’s reactions closely, for some reason, and Allison wondered what he was looking for. He appeared not to be finding whatever it was – Kate’s expression remained unconcerned – so he continued:

“It is strange, though, isn’t it,” He said, “That the only person to have been attacked by a rogue Were in this town in years just happens to be a slave of the Argents. I don’t know about you, but to me, it has all the hallmarks of a personal attack.”

Kate finally perked up with some interest, “You think the attack on Scott was set up? A personal attack from one of our rivals?”

“It is possible isn’t it? Because the rogue Were has not been seen or heard of since. One has not been sighted or captured, in or out of town. Which suggests it was sent from somewhere, and then returned after the deed was done.”

Her aunt stared at her brother for a moment, before she sighed loudly, sadly, “It would be easier to think that was the case, in many ways. To be safe in the knowledge that it is just a rival that we have to contend with, rather than a dangerous rogue Were on the loose, but alas, the rogue Were does exist. There have been a couple of attacks since Scott, but the authorities have kept it hushed and covered it up quickly to avoid panic. They were just peasants, you see - the victims - with no Masters like you and I to voice their concerns, so the attacks were quickly covered up. I was notified because of my ownership of Scott, and because I have many good friends within the authorities.”

“Why is this the first I have heard about this?” Allison’s father demanded angrily, “Why did you not tell me before now?”

“I did not want to burden you,” Kate leant forward and put a hand on her brother’s knee.

Allison glanced at Melissa again, hoping that her friend –a woman that was more motherly to Allison in many ways more than Allison’s own mother was – was not too visibly shaken by the discussion of her son’s attack.

Melissa was staring at the floor, but glanced up and caught Allison’s eye when she felt Allison’s gaze on her. Allison sent her a small, encouraging smile; they would soon be seeing Scott for themselves, and Melissa sent her a tiny smile in return. Allison then looked away in before her aunt could notice them.

“You will tell me,” Her father was saying, stern and brooking no argument, “As soon as it happens again, if it happens again.”

Kate crossed her finger over her heart, “You have my word, brother.”

“I would also like you to take it seriously.”

“Oh, believe me,” Kate said, suddenly severe, “I am.”

Allison’s father was staring at his sister with a hard, level stare, “I need to speak to you in private. Maybe now would be a good time to allow Allison and Melissa to see Scott and Stiles?”

Kate raised an eyebrow, but did not argue, which was surprising. “Why not? Allison, you may go. The guards at the door will show you to the minor lounge, and fetch Scott and Stiles for you.”

Allison knew that there was some unspoken tension between her father and aunt that had been obvious since their arrival, that would no doubt be discussed and argued once she had left, but she was so eager to see Scott and Stiles that she did not argue.

Allison got to her feet and tried not to walk too quickly towards the door, “Come, Melissa,” She called, sending Melissa an excited smile as Melissa moved to follow her.

***

As soon as her niece and Scott’s mother left the room, Kate fixed her gaze on her brother.

“What is it that you wish to speak to me about, Christopher?” She made sure her tone held warning; warning her brother not to try and make her look foolish, even if they were in private.

“I want to take Stiles back,” Chris said.

Kate immediately knew why, but she let out an innocent laugh, “Whatever for?”

Her brother leant forward in his chair, shifting in his seat, so that he narrowed the space between them. He had on his most reprimanding expression, not that it had much effect on her anymore. “Did you think that I would not hear of the events of your little party?”

So word had reached him, then. Normally Kate was able to make her guests promise to keep the events of her parties on the quiet, but this particular party had been deemed such a success, that she had expected some rumours to spread.

“The party was a huge success,” She said, “Lord Ithan has been most excitable about it, which has gained the Ludus and our family yet another powerful associate, and I have heard most positive remarks from the other guests. Why would that result in your demanding of Stiles?”

As unruly as the boy was, she now considered him her property. She had trained him to near-obedience, but he was a challenge that she enjoyed in punishment and reward. He worked hard, and fitted in well with her other slaves. She would not return him to Chris, not so much for concern of losing Stiles, but more because of not knowing what the loose tongued boy would say once he was out of her sight, which also proved to her that she still did not have the boys’ full loyalty and obedience, and it was something she was looking forward to breaking. Without Stiles in her hands, she also had less of a bargaining chip for Scott’s obedience.

“You know why. I have heard about your night’s ‘entertainment’,” Chris’ lip curled, “Which you know I have always disapproved of at the first. Weres are animals, Kate, and why people find them exotic and want them for sex I have very little idea,” He pointed his finger at her, “But Stiles is not an animal. He is a human; one who I took guardianship of when I took him in as a child.”

Kate swallowed down her fury at Chris’ disgust toward humans who chose to bed Weres, because he did not know. Chris had never been a Dominus of Weres, and so he did not know that offering Weres to guests was far more popular than people liked to admit. Offering Weres was one of the wealthiest trades for her Ludus.

But then, of course, there was Derek. She had never admitted to anybody that she bedded her most famous Gladiator several times a week, but it was nobody’s business but hers, and was more about keeping Derek in line and gaining some alternative forms of enjoyment out of her business, than it was about her wanting a Were. She hated Weres. She wanted Derek under her thumb, though. She liked having power over him, she liked being in control of him, she liked the feel of him and the look of him and the sound of his voice. But his species were vermin. He was vermin. And she hated him. She did.

Just the thought of her dilemma regarding Derek and his disgusting species and his perfect body had her growing angry all over again.

She covered her anger with a cruel laugh, “You took Stiles in as a house slave, Chris, not as a ward. He did not have the social standing to be any more than a house slave after he was made an orphan.”

“That does not mean that you can sell him out like you do your Weres.”

“I did not ‘sell him out’,” She said, “None of the guests touched him.”

“No. But you did not stop them watching.”

If she was being honest, Kate had been absolutely livid with Lord Ithan at the party; with his interruptions and suggestions for an evening that had been hers to conduct, hers to rule and use as an opportunity to show her prowess. She had not taken kindly to his unsubtle hints as to what he wanted to happen, and had been more than ready to deny him just to spite him, but then Derek had spoken out of turn, and she had decided that it was actually rather a splendid way to put Derek back in his place, and teach Stiles, unruly house slave that he was, that her word was law.

Kate had never before allowed one of her house slaves used as entertainment at a party or event. Her house slaves were ornamental. To be looked at but not touched. Kate had chosen them all herself - delicate, sculptured, attractive - on purpose. They were her property, and no matter how her guests looked at them, they could not have them because they were ultimately out of bounds. She had never allowed one of her guests to bed a house slave, no matter the offers she had received on occasions in the past, and it was for the very reasons that her brother was arguing. Weres were animals there to do the bidding of their masters. House slaves were human; decorative and tempting, but ultimately out of reach as the ones who served their Master or Mistress day in and day out.

She had crossed a line by using Stiles as a form of entertainment, but he was like no house slave she had ever contended with before; loud when he was meant to be silent, fidgety when he was meant to be still, floundering when he was meant to be poised. It just happened that he was also an attractive, pretty boy that had clearly caught Lord Ithan’s eye from the first. She was not going to turn down an opportunity to win over Lord Ithan’s friendship, even if his interference in her evening had been irksome and somewhat distasteful and unconventional.

It had also, admittedly, been most entertaining to watch.

She had never seen Derek fuck another person before, and it had been quite intriguing to watch. She had watched the powerful muscles move under his flawless skin, seen the sweat build on the back of his neck, watched his dark head as he pressed his face close to Stiles’ skinnier shoulder. She had watched Derek’s hips move, rolling and smooth, the strength in his thighs, the bunching of his arm muscles where they bracketed Stiles’ head, and she had been shocked to find herself aroused by the scene, because she had been beneath Derek a hundred times, and had never seen it like this.

Stiles had complimented Derek well, lithe and toned whereas Derek was chiselled and broader. Stiles’ skin was paler, used to indoor work, his hair of lighter shade. He had made endearing little sounds that he had tried to stifle but had sometimes failed to do effectively. He was a delicate looking thing, and she knew whose body Lord Ithan’s gaze had been on the entire time.

She had been displeased for having had to use Stiles as a form of entertainment, but it truly had proved a success, so she did not regret her decisions of that evening. And she had more than redeemed for the decision by being a little more lenient with Stiles in reward for his good behaviour.

“I told you that if there was any unnecessary cruelty toward either Stiles or Scott, that I would take Stiles back,” Chris broke her from her thoughts.

“No,” Kate said immediately, “You said that if they reported anything back to you, then you would take Stiles back. But neither of them has complained to you of any mistreatment, have they?”

“Have you let them?” Chris accused immediately.

Kate glared at her brother. It was true that from the first she had warned them of the cost of reporting anything back to her brother, and had punished Stiles for the one time that he had managed to get a message to Allison about Scott’s arena debut. But Chris had given them to her. Scott was hers now as a Gladiator, because it was the only option that did not result in Scott being sent to the mines, or to a Ludus where Chris would have absolutely no input or visiting rights whatsoever. Stiles had been stubborn enough to demand his way into her employ, and there he would stay, whether Chris liked it or not. She doubted Stiles would want to leave as long as Scott was in the Ludus. But even if he did ever want to leave, she was not about to allow it to happen. He was her property now. Branded as her property. There was nothing Chris or Allison could do about it.

“Go and ask him,” Kate said, with a casual shrug, “Ask Stiles if he wants to leave. I will guarantee he will tell you no.”

Chris stared at her for a moment, before clearly deciding she had a point. Stiles had been stubborn enough to get himself into her house, and his stubbornness would keep him here. One day she would have Stiles moulded into the perfect house slave, but for now, his disobedient stubbornness was actually working in her favour.

“Allison and Melissa do not know anything of your party and what happened to Stiles, thank the gods, I have managed to keep it from them,” Chris muttered.

Kate was concerned at how much Chris talked about his house slaves as though they were a part of his family. They were not his family, they were his slaves, there to do his bidding, do whatever he may ask of them. Just as her slaves did whatever she asked of them; including keeping her party guests happy. Her brother was growing soft, and he was losing the sight of the reality of owning slaves and Gladiators in present society.

“If Scott does one day get killed on the sands,” Chris said, “And I demanded Stiles back, I would not take no for an answer if Stiles wanted to return to my house.”

Kate did not like - not one little bit - her brother thinking he could pick and choose her house slaves for her, and interfere in a Ludus he had never cared for.

Stiles’ loyalty to Scott was what had brought him to her in the first place, but by the point Scott was killed in the arena - inevitable but possibly not for a while - she hoped to have Stiles’ obedience under her control to a point where he would not dare to leave.

“I think that could be negotiated,” She said, just to get her brother off her back for the time being, “So, Chris, about tomorrow night. I am going to the pits to watch the fights, make some bets, scope the talent. I have heard the Coyote girl will be there. If you wanted to come I could arrange another charge for the Ludus tomorrow?”

Chris frowned at her quick change of topic, but pleasingly did not comment, “No. I will be happy to keep an eye on things here.”

It would surely placate him to have opportunity to talk to Stiles and Scott, but Kate had already made damn sure that neither of them would say anything to Chris that she did not want them to say. It had only taken speaking to them separately earlier that day, and making a threat or two about punishing the other in their stead, before they were promising that they would not say a single thing out of line.

Friendships were overrated. Relationships, caring for people, it made you weak. Scott and Stiles were the prime example of the weakness that could be exploited from caring about another person too much.

She was glad that she had no-one to care for in that way. Blood was thick, and she would fight her brother’s corner if she had to, but really, she did not need anybody but herself.

“Thank you, Christopher,” She said.

Her talk with Chris had been enlightening for her. It had been less rewarding for him. Because despite his arguments, she would certainly be considering branching out to fighting species other than Weres. Despite his arguments, she would keep hold of Stiles. The talk of the rogue Were was troubling, though. Her brother’s concerns had been justified. She decided it was a problem that might need dealing with a little sooner, rather than later.

***

Stiles saw the way Scott’s face lit up the moment that he saw his mother and Allison standing together in the lounge. His smile split his face, and his soft brown eyes were suddenly filled with happiness.

“Leave us, please,” Allison ordered the guard that had escorted Scott and Stiles to the room, “Scott has his collar on and you will just be outside the door. My father has given his permission.”

Clearly having no other option but to obey the niece of his Mistress, the guard nodded, “Yes Miss,” He said, closing the door to behind him.

The moment he was gone and the four of them were alone, Scott was charging into his mother’s arms.

“Oh Scott,” Melissa murmured into his hair, holding him tight, tears in her eyes.

Scott did not reply, just buried his head further into his mother’s neck.

Stiles smiled at them, before looking to Allison, who was walking towards him.

“I have missed you, Stiles,” She said, tucking herself into his arms.

Stiles hugged her back. He had seen her a couple of times since he had become a house slave to Kate, but each time he had not been able to talk to her like he wanted to, like they used to, or hug or interact with her as he had wanted. Kate had nearly broken his fingers after she had seen Allison clutch hold of Stiles’ hand during Scott’s first fight in the arena. Allison did not know about that, though, and Stiles was not about to tell her. It would get Allison upset, it would make her confront her aunt, and Kate would no doubt make sure Allison did not visit again, and make sure Stiles paid for telling Allison about it.

“It is good to see you Allison,” He said, feeling instantly at home with her and Melissa and Scott, as it had been for the previous five years of his life. He could smell her perfume, a familiar scent that reminded him of summer days spent with her and Scott in the gardens at her house. “I have missed you more.”

Allison smiled up at him, before standing on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. It surprised Stiles; as much as she had hugged him before, she had rarely kissed him.

“That is not possible,” She told him, smiling fondly up at him.

He glanced at Scott and Melissa over the top of her head, still wrapped up in their embrace, “I don’t think I am the one who has missed you most, though.”

Allison’s smile changed from happy to bashful in a matter of moments, and Stiles still had no idea how someone like Scott still managed to have such an effect on the fierce and confident young woman, but he always enjoyed seeing it.

It was not long before Scott and Allison gravitated towards each other, like they always had done, and Stiles pulled Melissa to the side of the room, watching Scott and Allison exchange a tender kiss from the corner of his eye.

Melissa was watching them too, a sad frown on her face. Stiles remembered the night Melissa had finally sat Scott down, over a year ago now, and bluntly asked him if he and Allison were seeing each other in secret. She had known already, Stiles was sure of it, but she had wanted to hear it from Scott. Because when Scott had confirmed her suspicions, with his voice and eyes wobbling with tears, she had not seemed surprised or angry, just weary. She was worried, Stiles knew, because the class and privilege divides would inevitably one day tear them irreparably apart and leave them both broken hearted. Melissa had come to terms, long ago, as Stiles had, that Scott and Allison would never be kept apart. And although Melissa’s concerns had come to pass, and they _had_ been torn apart, Scott and Allison still seemed not to be deterred, even when now living in different households, with Scott at an even lower status than he had been when he was a house slave.

Stiles gave his friends their privacy, turning towards Melissa.

“How are you?” He asked her. He knew that losing both Scott and Stiles on the same day had been terrible for her, and imagining what was happening to Scott without being able to see him for herself must have been awfully difficult for her.

“Oh Stiles,” Melissa smiled at him with so much love, with the same smile she had given her own son, that Stiles felt the lump building instantly in the back of his throat at the sight of it. She seemed incapable of finding the words she wanted to say to him, so just pulled him into her arms.

Stiles melted against her, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist and never wanting to let go. Melissa had always made him feel safe, made him feel wanted and less alone. Losing his mother and father within a short space of time had been devastating for Stiles as an eleven year old boy. He had felt alone, abandoned and lost in his grief. Melissa had seen that and yet had not tried to replace his mother, just provided him the support and love that he had so abruptly lost. He had ended up seeing her as a second mother anyway, just as he knew she now saw him as a second son.

Melissa had her nose pressed into the short but growing strands of Stiles’ hair, and Stiles was so very relieved that word of what had occurred at Kate’s party had apparently not reached them. If they had known they would have been conflicted; they would have wanted to take him back, and they would have felt guilty for being relieved when he would have adamantly told them that he wanted to stay with Scott. And they might not have looked at Stiles in the same way anymore. He was glad they did not know, so he would not have to deal with that upset and guilt. He would not have to deal with yet another offer to return back to the house of Chris Argent.

No matter what happened, Stiles was going to stay with Scott. No matter how much he missed Melissa and Allison, Stiles was going to stay with his new friends at the Ludus.

Stiles was going to stay and see whether the tentative beginnings of whatever was growing between him and Derek Hale were going to evolve into something more, like he hoped that they would.

***

Derek was almost surprised to receive the call from Kate, a few hours after her brother and niece had left the villa and Scott had come back down to the Ludus. Kate had not called for Derek since the night of her _Crescent Moon_ celebratory party. It had been five days, which was almost the longest period of time that had passed without Kate calling him up to the house since he was eighteen years old. He had been enjoying the peace, the need not to pretend and put on his fixed mask kept solely for Kate’s eyes. He had enjoyed spending time alone in his free time, but had also been trying to figure out when he could organise a private meeting with Stiles.

That would have to wait though, because Kate would not wait.

Derek did not see any of the house slaves on his walk through the house, which was disappointing and relieving in equal measure. He wanted to see Stiles, but he also did not want him to see Derek heading to Kate’s rooms.

Derek paused outside Kate’s bedroom door, like he always did, and took a deep breath, steadying the familiar churning of his stomach and the twisting of his heart. He knocked on the door.

“Enter.”

Derek entered the room. Shut the door behind him.

Kate was standing at her desk, paperwork in hand, but the moment she saw Derek she dropped the papers and moved toward him. Derek stayed resolutely stone still, having barely moved into the room.

Kate was watching him in a manner of cautious curiosity.

“Derek,” She said. “How do you fare?”

Derek was taken aback. It was not often that Kate asked how he was. He wondered if it was because she felt guilty for what had happened at the party, but she did not look it, and when Derek opened his mouth to respond to her question, she barrelled over him.

“Oh do not stand there looking so sullen. What happened at the party was of no fault of mine. What did you expect me to do after you so openly questioned my authority in front of the guests,” She shook her head, “You left me little choice in the matter, and if anything, I was lenient. If it had been anyone other than my champion, they would have faced a far more severe punishment than you did.”

Derek’s fingers curled up into his palms and dug in sharply. He had to keep control, and the blunt edged, dull-pain from his nails helped him maintain his cool. If he had been free of his collar he would have had to have tried harder to ward off the snarl of teeth or the extending of claws. For this reason the collar was, for once, a blessing, as it helped him keep a relatively stony face.

He wanted so much to argue, to tell her that she had not been forced to do anything. That she was just cruel. She had been cruel to Stiles, and cruel to his fellow Weres. That she was cruel to him. He wanted to tell her that he wasn’t ‘sullen’, he was seething, because he was past the point of exhaustion when it came to her using of his body. He wanted to tell her that being her champion was no privilege - as she often made it out to be - it just meant that he was the favourite to loan out, to use. And by calling him to her rooms, he knew that she was about to use him once again.

But he did not say any of those things. He didn’t because there was Laura, Cora, Peter and his friends here in the Ludus to think of. He needed to placate her, although it was the last thing he really wanted to do. So, although it made his throat burn to say it, he said instead, “Domina, I only spoke out of turn because I did not like your guest making decisions without your leave.”

It had infuriated him, that Kate had allowed her guest to take such a sway on the evening’s events, and that Kate had let it go un-challenged. The only reason for that would have been if Kate had decided that Derek and Stiles had deserved punishing, which likely she did, but it had been out of character for her not to just plough over any challenge to her authority. She had done it on purpose to make an example of Derek and Stiles.

Kate was still watching him, calculating now, rather than curious. He knew that she knew that he was only saying what he thought she would want to hear. She knew he did not really mean it. She knew how he hated the lifestyle he led, the life in which every string was in her command, and he was her favourite puppet.

But she let him get away with it, as she usually did, because she did not expect him to like her, she expected him to fuck her. Derek sometimes wondered if Kate truly thought that Derek actually liked her, and whether she actually liked him in turn, but Derek knew that even if the latter might be worryingly true, the former certainly was not. In his youth, in his naivety, he had been briefly caught under her spell, before it had quickly been broken, the enchantment lifted from his eyes.

“I did not like his rudeness either,” Kate said, “But I cannot say I regret letting him get away with it,” By the time she reached him her gaze was heated, her hands finding the bare skin of his chest, “I got to watch you, and my champion was the envy of everyone in the room.”

Derek quashed the urge to knock her hands away in disgust.

“And Stiles did not disappoint, despite your all-too vocal concern on the matter,” She continued, “He was quite the topic of conversation afterwards, too.”

Derek knew that it had not been him that Lord Ithan had been watching that night. He knew exactly why Lord Ithan had chosen Stiles in the first place. It made Derek’s flesh crawl. He was used to the hungry gazes of other people when he was put out on display during Kate’s parties, but Stiles was so new to it, and that was what Ithan had seen in Stiles, almost as much as he inevitably noticed Stiles’ good looks. Lord Ithan had seen Stiles’ innocence and his inexperience.

“But not as much as you were,” Kate said, pushing Derek backwards, “The ladies in the room were all very eager to discuss when my next party would be, and when they would next get a chance to spend a night with the _Undefeated Alpha._ ”

The backs of Derek’s legs hit the couch, and he abruptly sat when Kate pushed down on his shoulder. He did not say anything. It was better not to say anything at all, than accidentally say something he would be made to regret.

Kate unbuckled Derek’s pants for him, before lifting her dress and straddling him.

“They do not know, however,” Kate whispered against his lips. Derek kept his gaze lowered so to avoid looking into her eyes, because he was afraid she would be able to see the hatred in them, “That no matter how many times they pay to be with the _Undefeated Alpha_ , the _Undefeated Alpha_ belongs to me.”

She kissed him.

Derek forced himself to kiss back.

It did not take long before she took him in hand and eased him into her. Derek kept his hands loosely around her waist as she rode him. He let himself drift elsewhere, eyes stubbornly fixed on her collar bones. Stiles’ collarbones weren’t as sharp as Kate’s, Derek didn’t think, they were softer looking, and they would be nicer to trace lips along.

He then cast a look around the room, assessing areas within his eye line that he had not yet been able to investigate, wondering where Kate could be hiding the stash of keys for the Were collars. He clocked a few spots that could be worth checking if ever he got a moment alone in the room.

Kate did not leave him alone with his elsewhere thoughts for long. “Derek,” Her voice was whip-sharp and commanding. “Look at me.”

Derek blinked, eyes moving up a little, but stopping at her neck.

One of her hands moved from his shoulder to grasp his jaw and lift his head up. “I said, look at me.”

Derek raised his eyes completely and locked gaze with her. Her hair was in disarray, and her cheeks were flushed pink, but they were the only signs of exertion. She was moving languidly, slowly now, totally in control, fucking herself onto him, her skirts covering it all from view.

“I love it when you look at me like you hate me,” Kate said, her voice losing its authority by its breathlessness. “I see the loathing in your eyes, Derek, I see it in the set of your jaw.”

If she could see the hatred there, then why did she even bother doing this with him? Or maybe that was exactly the point.

She lowered her head and licked a long stripe up his neck to the back of his jaw. Her lips hovered near his ear, “There is such a thin line, and don’t we cross it back and forth?”

A thin line between love and hate; Derek adamantly knew which side he was fixed on, but Kate on the other hand, that was a different question. One he honestly did not want to know the answer to, because if she truly thought that sometimes she did love him, it made what she did to him all the worse.

She did not mention it further. He didn’t let her. He took a tighter grip of her hips and worked his hips upward with greater force and speed. Kate lost her spiteful words. Derek bit his tongue and tasted blood, and swallowed it down with all the words that he wanted to say, that were like sour ash in his mouth.

“Derek,” Kate said, afterwards, as she righted her dress and fixed her hair, halfway across the room and with her back turned to him, “Lord Christopher will be looking after the house tomorrow evening, I am going to the fighting pits. I trust you to help the guards in keeping the Ludus in check. I would hate to hear of any rowdiness in my absence.”

“Yes, Domina.”

Kate’s announcement surprised him, but immediately the knowledge of her absence had a hundred thoughts shooting through his mind; how he could use it as an opportunity to see Stiles whilst she was not there.

Kate did not seem to notice his distraction. “Good,” She said. “You may go.”

Derek immediately moved towards the door, wanting to be away from her.

“Oh and Derek?” Her voice had him freezing in his tracks. “Send Peter up when you get back down to the Ludus. I want to speak to him about Were Coyotes.”

Derek frowned, wondering what on earth she wanted to know about Were Coyotes, and why. But he did not question her out loud. He had already done that once that week. He was not about to do it again.

Derek glanced around to make sure she had nothing else to say, but she was ignoring him, back with the papers on her desk. So he opened the door quietly and left.

He felt dirtier than normal, he realised, as he leant back against the wall in the hallway. His skin prickled and he could still taste blood in his mouth. He could still smell Kate’s perfume. He shuddered, and turned to walk back to the Ludus steps. Despite all that, his spirits had been somewhat lifted by the knowledge of Kate’s intended absence from the villa and Ludus the following night. It was a light in an otherwise miserable day.

He had honestly not expected to see anybody on his journey back toward the Ludus, but was not entirely surprised and more than a little pleased when he spotted Stiles coming in the other direction, carrying a pile of fresh linens.

Stiles’ face split into a grin immediately, and Derek felt the weight on his shoulders lighten a little bit more.

Stiles did not say anything, not until it looked like they were about to pass each other by, at which time he slowed down, and they both surreptitiously checked the empty hall around them as they stopped.

“Hey Derek,” Stiles said.

Derek smiled back nervously. It was obvious where he had just come from - that he had been in Kate’s rooms - and he could still taste the blood on his tongue. “Hi Stiles,” He replied.

Stiles studied him for a moment with his quick and intelligent gaze, “Are you ok?” Stiles asked, and the question was weighted.

“Yes, thanks,” Derek said automatically. He hadn’t been ok, but he was feeling better on seeing Stiles, and knowing that Stiles was not reacting badly to the fact that Derek had just been with Kate. “Better, seeing you,” He added honestly.

Stiles smiled, eyes lighting up and crinkling at the corners. He looked genuinely happy and thrilled with the compliment, and Derek felt the cold that had fixed in his chest throughout his meeting with Kate start to thaw.

“You are a smooth talker, Hale,” Stiles grinned, even as he glanced around the room again to make sure they weren’t going to be discovered. “Any news?”

“Scott’s well,” Derek said immediately, knowing that that would be what Stiles would want to hear first, “And the rest, too.” He then took a breath, “And Lord Christopher is going to be minding the house tomorrow, as the Domina is out,” The admission left him in a rush of words.

He watched Stiles’ eyes widen. He looked at Derek, eyes warm and excitable, “Does that mean I get to see you?”

Derek was relieved that Stiles had been so eager to ask about a potential meet up, glad to hear that Stiles still wanted an opportunity to spend some time together as much as Derek did. Derek did not let it show, though, as he nodded shortly. “I think it might work.”

“What time?”

Derek looked around again, conscious that they were lingering together in the hall far longer than normal. “I have to talk to some people first, sort something out. I will send a message to you.”

It would take some negotiation. Derek was fairly certain that it would be Bennett’s night on duty, and Bennett would be far preferable, seeing as he was already on Jackson’s payroll. It was also the Ludus ‘leisure’ night that night, so the bath house would be open, the dining hall still open, and it would be doubtful that anyone would be wandering the corridors of the rooms before official lock down for the night…

He looked back at Stiles, and found Stiles studying his face, a small smile still playing on his face,

“Ok,” Stiles said, and he started to continue on his way down the hall. “I am looking forward to it, Mr Hale,” He threw back over his shoulder, more smooth and confident than Derek had ever heard him.

Derek wanted to reply, but he didn’t, to save himself from having to call after Stiles and potentially attract unwanted attention, but he was looking forward to it too. And Derek Hale did not often have things to look forward to.

***

Stiles was not on kitchen duty the following day, so received the message from Danny after the lunch shift, about the time and place he had to be, in order to spend a couple of hours solely in the company of Derek Hale.

The thought made his stomach flutter with unexpected nerves. No matter how many times he told himself that it was just Derek, and that they had already gotten through the awkward stage of saying that they liked each other (and, you know, actually had sex with each other), the idea of spending time alone with Derek, truly, for the first time, made him feel anxious and unusually shy. What if they ended up having little in common and had nothing to talk about once they were finally alone for a significant amount of time, and could not solely rely on their short banter-fuelled conversations? What if they did not get along once they were in each other’s company? What if Derek became irritated by Stiles’ manner rather than mostly-faux-irritated by it?

The questions kept a steady circuit around his head for the rest of the day, and the butterflies fluttering in his stomach did not cease.

He busied himself in helping Matt and Kira to clean the kitchen thoroughly, from top to bottom. He was still scrubbing at the stove when Lydia came in to inform them that Lord Christopher had arrived and the Domina had departed for the night.

“Lord Christopher says as long as he has plenty of wine and snacks for the evening, we are given the night off,” Lydia said with some excitement.

It was rare for the house slaves to have a night off when Kate was home, but Stiles had heard from the others that Lord Christopher sometimes allowed them it when he was in charge of the house in her stead, just as he had sometimes let Stiles, Scott, Melissa and the other slaves have a night to themselves in his own house. It was yet another thing that made Chris a fairer master than Kate. He was strict, firm on hierarchy and custom, and often quick to anger, but he was still fair. But Stiles could have stayed with Chris, if he had wanted to. It was he who had argued to go with Scott. He did not regret his decision, but he missed working for Chris, and even Victoria, too.

Matt and Kira were smiling at the news of a night off.

“I will get him some food and wine,” Matt offered, “If you two don’t mind finishing up here?”

“No problem,” Stiles said, glaring at the stove as he scrubbed at some heat-stuck substance.

“Actually, Stiles,” Lydia said, “You had best get cleaned up. Lord Christopher would like to see you.”

Stiles’ head shot back up again, “Really? Oh,” He dropped the scrubbing brush he was holding. He only had a couple of hours before he was supposed to be meeting Derek, so as much as he wanted to see his former master, if only for a little normalcy, he hoped Chris would not ask for his service that evening or keep him for too long. “Ok,” He said, looking to Kira, “If you don’t mind if I leave you to it.”

Kira waved him off, “I don’t mind. Go!”

*

Stiles knocked on the door of the lounge that Chris Argent had occupied as a temporary-study for the evening; quiet and closed off from the rest of the house.

“Enter.”

Stiles entered the room, pulling awkwardly at his open shirt in order to fix it.

“Still fidgeting, Stiles?” Chris Argent asked, glancing up at him from the desk.

“Sir,” Stiles said, stilling his hands instantly, “I am still not quite used to the shirts, Sir.”

Chris’ eyebrow quirked and his gave Stiles a cursory onceover, “It is a little revealing to my tastes.”

“Well, if it was up to me…” Stiles said, before snapping his mouth shut with an audible click of his jaw.

“Still unable to hold your tongue, Stiles?” Chris asked, with his slanting smile, his admonishment holding little heat.

“I apologise, Sir.”

“I take it you are better in control of it when in service to my sister?”

“I have learnt to,” Stiles said, and he saw how Chris looked at him then. Something that looked like concern flashed across his face.

“I hope she is treating you well, Stiles. I did warn you when you were so determined to leave my service that my sister would be nowhere near so lenient with you as I am. You had my warning and still decided to proceed,” Chris paused, “But despite this, I still feel somewhat responsible for you. Do you have anything that you wish to report? To tell me?”

Stiles thought about it, for one moment; telling his former master everything. Telling him how Kate had beaten him, cut and bruised him, humiliated him and forced him to have sex with her champion Gladiator in front of her party guests. But what would it achieve? Chris had warned him that his tongue would get him into trouble when Stiles had demanded to leave Chris’ service to follow Scott to the Ludus. Chris would maybe want to take him back, and Stiles was adamant to stay with Scott, to stay with Derek, stay with his new friends. He thought about telling Chris, but just the idea of telling him about Kate’s party made him feel hot with embarrassment and sick in the stomach. No, he did not want Chris to know. He could have told Chris so many things, but at that moment, he was at a loss for words, conflicted in his loyalties and his own desires.

So he simply said, “Nothing that I can immediately think of, Sir.”

His former master levelled him with a stare that was almost too-knowing for Stiles’ liking. Chris Argent looked resigned. “If you are adamant.”

“I am, Sir.”

“I thought you might be,” Chris sighed. And then the moment of weighted questions was gone. His former master sat up a little straighter, his face cleared, and he picked up the next document in a rather large pile, back to business again. A goblet of wine and a plate of assorted sweets and savouries sat on his other side.

“I am sure you will have heard by now that I am giving the house slaves a night off,” Chris said, scanning through the document in his hand as he spoke, “I am going to be working all evening so do not wish to be disturbed. So I am not going to keep you long.” His eyes fixed on Stiles again from over the top of the paper, “I just wanted to see how you were keeping,” He said, “And to tell you that my daughter has sent something along for you.” Chris nodded towards the low decorative table standing beside the chaise to Stiles’ left.

Stiles turned and found a book entitled _Were Lore_ sitting on the table surface.

Stiles picked it up, turning the volume over in his hands. “Thank you, Sir,” Stiles said, “And my thanks to Lady Allison, but I am not sure if the Domina allows us to have books.”

“I am allowing you,” Chris said bluntly, “And what my sister does not know will not hurt her, so long as it is kept out of sight.”

“But…”

“Stiles,” Chris bowled over him again, giving him a hard look, “Allison was most adamant that you were to read it and brush up on your knowledge on Weres; you have been purposefully ignorant before now, and she wants you to learn. Whilst I am not sure that she wants you to learn for the right reasons, I am allowing it because I think it would do you good to learn that these Weres are not harmless, and they are not your friends. I think it would do you good to learn that they are creatures of animalistic instinct. I think you need to learn that Scott has changed more drastically than you believe that he has. I have been trying to tell my daughter the same but she is annoyingly stubborn. I am willing to keep this from my sister, if it means keeping my daughter at bay, because whilst the wrath of both can be something to be reckoned with, I do not have to live with my sister.”

But Stiles _did_ have to live with Kate. He did not know the household policy on keeping and reading books, but he would put good money on it being a forbidden past time.

He opened his mouth to reply, but Chris beat him to it, “You used to read in my household. I recall you enjoying it, despite reading about the most bizarre topics. Do you not want the book?”

The threat had its desired effect, as the thought of Chris taking the book away had Stiles clutching it protectively to his chest. “No, I want it,” He said, “Thank you, Sir,” He added as an afterthought.

When Stiles had first been taken in by Chris Argent as a house slave, Stiles had despised it. He had despised the rules, the propriety, the expectations that his newly lowered station brought him. He had thought the Argents strict and cruel, at first. He still thought them strict. But that was before he learned of the situations of other slaves in other households, and Stiles discovered that his being allowed to read books, having some free time, and the fact that Melissa had been given permission to tutor him in medicine, was actually a huge privilege, not given to house slaves in the vast majority of other households. He had found out first-hand when he had come into the household of Kate Argent.

Stiles was looking forward to being able to read and exercise his mind again.

“Thank you,” he said again, in earnest.

His former master smirked at him, “I thought as much.” His attention once again returned to his papers, “You may leave, Stiles, if there is nothing more that you wish to tell me.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Stiles said, one final time.

“And for the gods sake, keep that book out of eyesight.”

“I will, Sir.”

*

“Hey, Stiles,” Lydia said half an hour later, barging into Stiles, Danny and Matt’s room, and shutting the door behind her, “What are you reading?”

Stiles balked, made a strangled noise, and attempted to hide the book under his pillow, “What? Me? I’m not reading anything.”

Lydia raised an eyebrow at him and crossed her arms over her chest, “Are you being serious?”

Stiles looked around the room, even though he and Lydia were the only occupants, as if he expected more house slaves to pop up to hear him, and then reluctantly brought the book back out again.

“Lord Christopher gave it to me,” Stiles said. “Are we allowed books?”

“What do you think?” Lydia asked drily.

“No, then,” Stiles said, slowly.

“I won’t say anything,” Lydia said, as though that were obvious, “You just need to learn how to be discreet. Because I do not think you know how to do that.”

“I do!” Stiles protested, throwing his sandal in her direction. He sobered a little, “I will have to learn to do it better though, won’t I?”

Thankfully, Lydia understood what he was really talking about, “Are you meeting Derek tonight?”

Stiles nodded, “In less than an hour,” He said, shifting on the bed, “I am more nervous than I thought I would be. I am trying to take my mind of it.” He gestured to the book.

Lydia smiled at him and shook her head, coming to perch on the end of the bed. “You needn’t be nervous. Derek will have it all planned out, I am sure he will make sure you both won’t get caught.”

“It’s not just that,” Stiles said, “It’s just…what if we find we have nothing to talk about or…”

“I don’t think you would ever be short of something to say, Stiles,” Lydia said.

Stiles half-heartedly aimed his other sandal at her.

“But,” She said, “I think you are worrying unnecessarily. Just see how it goes, that is why you are meeting isn’t it? To figure out if you do want to pursue what you could have, and if you get on you do, and if you don’t, you don’t. But you won’t know unless you go.”

“I know,” Stiles pouted, tapping his fingers on the cover of the book, wondering how it was that Lydia always seemed to be right about everything. They sat in silence for a moment, until Stiles glanced up at her, still eager to keep himself distracted, “I am reading a book on _Were Lore._ Did you know that Alpha Weres can fully transform into wolves?”

Lydia made a noise of startled exasperation, “You _didn’t_ know that?”

“Nope. According to Lord Christopher and Lady Allison I am ‘purposefully ignorant’ of it all.”

“Honestly,” Lydia shook her head, “You have so much to learn.”

“Hence the reading,” Stiles grinned.

Lydia cocked her head at him, “How is it that you can read?”

Stiles blinked, before remembering that not many house slaves had the luxury of literacy, particularly born slaves. “My parents taught me. My father was a sheriff and my mother was a seamstress, and they were both literate. I was free until the age of eleven, so I learnt before that. When I served for Lord Christopher and Lady Victoria, they allowed me to read books and keep my mind active.”

“Oh,” Lydia said, curious, watching him with a renewed interest.

“Can you?” Stiles gestured lamely.

“I am mostly self-taught,” She said finally, “But I also have a lot to learn. I wasn’t born free and so I never got the chance. Jackson has been teaching me when he can. He tried to teach Danny, too, but Danny wasn’t as interested.”

Stiles wondered how Jackson had learnt to read and write, not for the first time finding himself curious about the pasts of his fellow slaves and the Gladiators, but feeling too awkward and prying to ask. He drummed his fingers again over the cover of the book, “I do not know how good a teacher I would be, but if you ever wanted help with your learning, I would be happy to help.”

Lydia immediately beamed at him, “Thank you, Stiles, that means a lot.” She reached out and squeezed his ankle before standing up, “Have a great evening with Derek,” She said, and moved towards the door.

“Lydia?” Stiles asked, deciding to give in a little to his curiosity about his fellow slaves.

“Hmm?”

“You said Jackson tried to teach Danny to read?”

“He did. Danny was brought up a farmhand, and did not need to read. He still says he does not see the point.”

“I have been wondering,” Stiles said, “How come Danny gets to have visiting time with Jackson at mealtimes when none of the rest of you get to visit anyone? I didn’t think Kate would support friendships formed here.”

“She doesn’t,” Lydia said, “But Danny did not meet Jackson here. You weren’t the only slave to follow a friend from one house to another. Jackson was bought as a Gladiator from a Ludus in the south, and Danny was a slave – his friend – that came with him as a part of the deal. I am sure Danny would tell you about it if you asked him.”

That was enough to distract Stiles for the rest of his wait. He was learning new things about his fellow slaves every day, and it made him like them more and more, for the struggles each of them had had to face, and had still come out fighting. How they had existed and survived in the house of Kate Argent for years before he got there.

But they were also not afraid to break the severe rules Kate laid down. Lydia was seeing Jackson in secret, learning to read in secret. Danny and Jackson had old loyalties to each other that were so strong that Kate could not break them. He assumed Kira and Matt also had their own secrets, but he was yet to learn them. He hoped one day they would trust him enough to tell him them. He hoped that they could be trusted with his own secrets, but for the meantime, it was only Lydia, Danny and Jackson that knew that Stiles and Derek had organised a meeting that night. He had not even told Scott. He would, in time. It was the first secret he had kept from Scott since the day he met him, but Stiles did not know whether this meeting with Derek would be a one-time thing, or would develop into something more. If it developed, then he would let Scott know.

But all of that rested on his meeting with Derek.

And it was time for him to go. He stashed the book away between the frame of his bed and its thin mattress, before taking a breath and opening the door and heading into the hallway beyond.

***

 

The halls of the villa were deserted and quiet as Stiles crept through them. He did not meet anyone on his way to the Ludus steps, and descended the Ludus stairs quickly. His easy journey had not eased the butterflies in his stomach, however, which were flying faster than they had all day. They fluttered a little less dramatically when he saw that it was indeed Bennett waiting at the gate, on guard duty for the night.

Bennett did not say anything to him. He only nodded, and opened the gate to the Ludus with a quiet clang.

Stiles swallowed, relieved that Bennett had let him by without incident, but uncertain as to whether Derek would be waiting on the other side. Unsure as to whether this part of the Ludus would be deserted of other Gladiators and guards as Derek had said it would be.

He passed through the gate, and his heart thundered loudly in his chest. It was the first time that he had entered the Ludus alone, and other than Scott’s first full moon, he had never been in the Ludus so late in the day. His eyes quickly scanned the corridor before him, heart not slowing in its thudding, until it leapt sky high when a hand came from the shadows to his side and clasped his arm.

Stiles spun wildly, and clutched his hand to his chest when he saw that it was Derek, “Bloody hells,” Stiles gasped, “You trying to give me a heart attack, Hale?”

Derek’s eyebrow quirked upward, “Yes. That was my real intention in getting you down here; to scare you to death.”

Immediately and thankfully, the butterflies in his stomach all fizzled away, “You joke, but I am not one hundred percent certain that it would be beyond you.”

“Why?” Derek said, “Because of my being ‘mildly threatening’ to you?”

“Very threatening, actually; all teeth and threats to rip my throat out with them.”

“Well I was only telling the truth. I could do that.”

“Well please don’t. I need my throat for talking and breathing and whatnot.”

He could see Derek roll his eyes at him even in the shadow of the stone and metal of the Ludus entrance. “The _Wolves_ are all in the bath house,” Derek said, glancing back at Bennett through the bars, who had his back to them and was steadfastly ignoring them, as though they were not there. “But we will have to keep an eye out. We should go.”

Stiles nodded, and allowed Derek to take his wrist and lead him down the corridor. Derek led him in silence, expression alert but assured. Derek turned them on a sharp left and stole them into a corridor lined with wooden doors that had small barred windows in them.

Derek opened the door of one room towards the end of the corridor, and ushered Stiles in first.

Stiles found himself in a small room, big enough to contain a single bed covered in a thin cotton sheet pushed up against the wall, a small wooden chest that had a pair of sand-worn sandals placed on the lid, a table that housed a white clay jug and matching washing bowl, and an overnight lavatory in the far corner. Two wax candles glowed in their stands, standing next to each other on the table. The room was bare of possessions, just as the house slaves’ rooms were. There was nothing in that room that gave any indication of Derek’s tastes, Derek’s own character. It was something that Stiles had always found unnerving since becoming a house slave; that slaves weren’t allowed to have their own things, and were not allowed to express themselves. They all had to look the same, act the same, be the same.

As Stiles glanced around the room curiously, Derek closed the door behind them and then seated himself on the bed, pushing himself back until his back rested against the wall. When Stiles looked at him, Derek was watching him.

Stiles worried that he would find himself suddenly at a loss of things to say, in the quiet private of Derek’s room. In his haste to avoid saying anything that would veer them into too serious a conversation too quickly, Stiles said, “You say the other Gladiators are in the bath house?”

“Yes.”

“Does that mean you haven’t bathed?” Stiles wrinkled his nose playfully, “Gross, Hale.”

Derek rolled his eyes, “I went in first. I get privileges. Champion Alpha Gladiator, remember?”

“Yes, yes, we all know, _Undefeated Alpha,_ but thanks for the reminder.” Stiles cocked his head to the side, fidgeted, and then the reawakening of his nerves made him blurt, “So, I learned today that Alpha Werewolves can transform fully into wolves.”

Derek frowned, clearly confused, “What about it?”

“I err…” Stiles shifted, not knowing why he brought it up, because it was going to make him look stupid, if Lydia’s reaction had been anything to go by, but he had started now, and so he barrelled on, “I didn’t know that that was a thing that Weres could actually do.”

Derek blinked, “You seriously didn’t know that?”

“Well,” Stiles waved his arms around, “I heard stories, but I thought that they were just myths and fairytales, you know? I had only been to three tournaments before I came here, and each time I barely watched the fights. I have only seen Weres fight looking…part-wolfy.”

“Part-wolfy,” Derek repeated, voice deadpan but thankfully amused. “Part-wolfy is called a Beta-Shift. A full transformation is called an Alpha-Shift. Betas can only Beta-Shift, but Alphas can do both. You won’t have seen an Alpha-Shift before in the arena because the Beta-Shift fights are much more popular. Alpha-Shift fights sometimes take place in the arena, during the Wolf Moon, Full Moon and Blood Moon tournaments, for example. But Alpha-Shift fights are nowhere near as popular as Beta-Shift fights because a fight between Alphas in true wolf form is, ultimately, like watching animals fight. The audience come to watch Gladiators. They come to watch people kill each other, not to see a dog fight. Because that is how they see Alpha-Shift fights; they see it as nothing more than a couple of dogs fighting.”

Derek’s voice had gotten softer and more solemn as his explanation had continued, and Stiles found himself feeling guilty for even bringing it up, because he did not want Derek to look so lost in hopeless thought, like he currently was.

Stiles looked down at his feet for a moment, took a breath, and told his nervousness to take a break and let him have a little fun.

“Sorry,” He finally said, glancing up, “I shouldn’t have brought that up. I’m just a bit…I don’t know…a bit nervous.”

Derek’s head tilted to one side, and his face lit up with a hint of smugness, which made Stiles feel a little better, “I don’t bite, you know.”

“Actually, as we previously discussed, you have threatened as much.”

“Well I could,” Derek said, “But not as violently as previously threatened.”

An unexpected laugh bubbled up and out of Stiles at the flirty insinuation, and once again Stiles found his apprehensions clearing in the face of Derek’s genuineness.

“You said that we should get to know each other,” He said.

“That is why we are here,” Derek agreed slowly, clearly not following Stiles’ sudden change of topic.

“Well, then,” Stiles said, “We should do it properly. We didn’t get all that much of an introduction.”

“Actually, you threatening Smith with a spoon was enough of an introduction for me.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, grinning innocently, “I like to make a good first impression,” He stepped towards the edge of the bed, “But I meant that we didn’t get all that much of a formal introduction.” He held his hand out, “Hi. My name is Stiles. If I had hobbies other than cleaning floors and serving food to Gladiators and pissing them off, I would say that I like reading, generally about any subject that is bizarre and out of the ordinary, apart from Supernatural lore, which we have already established I am useless at. I am awkward, a bit clumsy, and have no brain-to-mouth filter, which you also already know. Nice to meet you.”

Derek gave a puzzled smile, but eventually humoured him. He casually leant forward from where he was sitting to clasp Stiles’ hand with his own to shake it. “Derek Hale. If I had hobbies other than being a Gladiator and killing people for a living, I would say that I like sports, especially ball games – and before you laugh, not those kind of ball games – and I had an interest in nature, and I used to like exploring. The forests were my favourite place...”

“Wait,” Stiles said, his hand still clasped around Derek’s, “You used to explore forests? Were you…were you _free_ …before?”

Derek nodded, and he gently tugged at Stiles’ hand. Stiles got the message, and moved to sit beside Derek, their sides pressed together and their backs against the wall.

“I was,” Derek said, sounding wistful, “I lived free until I was fifteen.”

“But how…” Stiles started, before stalling himself, “No, wait, we aren’t steering into serious yet. Don’t tell me. I mean, you might not want to ever tell me, which is fine. And if you do it doesn’t have to be now, unless you want to of course…”

“Stiles,” Derek effectively halted him, moving his hand to rest it on Stiles’ knee, and even that touch sent sparks of feeling up Stiles’ leg and around his body. “It’s ok. I will tell you, just, not right now.”

Stiles saw Derek’s head move out of the corner of his eye, and Stiles rolled his head against the wall to look towards him, to find Derek looking back.

“You said you like to read,” Derek said, his mesmerising hazel-green eyes searching Stiles’ face. “You can read?”

“Yes,” Stiles said, “I used to read at Chris Argent’s house. But I learnt to do it before that. I was free too, until the age of eleven. I was orphaned. Chris Argent took me on as a slave afterward.”

Derek made a sympathetic noise, but it was not pitying, it was understanding, and Stiles was filled with inquisitiveness, wanting to ask Derek’s story but knowing it was not the right time. They did not know each other well enough, yet. He hoped to change that.

“So, these ball games,” Stiles asked with a smirk, “Are you going to tell me more, or?”

Derek nudged him with his shoulder, face cracking into a coy grin.

*

They talked for a while, about simple, innocent things, but it was an effort to steer conversation around traumas of the past and their current lives as Kate Argent’s slaves, because those two things so greatly ruled their lives. It was a gaping hole of much-needed conversation that they were skirting around, but they made a damn good attempt to avoid it.

They were lying on the bed by that point, lying in opposite directions, their heads meeting in the middle of the bed, looking up to the ceiling, Derek’s legs hanging off the end of the bed and Stiles’ folded up against the wall at the head of the bed.

“Stiles?” Derek said, into a moment of comfortable silence.

“Mmm?”

“Why are you called ‘Stiles’?”

Stiles almost laughed. Derek sounded genuinely and innocently curious, as though the question had already been on his mind, but he had only just thought to broach the subject.

“It’s a nickname,” Stiles said, “It comes from ‘Stilinski’; my surname.”

“Oh,” Derek said, and he sounded perplexed when he suddenly said, “Why does that name sound familiar to me?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles said honestly, turning his head to look at Derek.

Derek was still looking up at the ceiling, his profile handsome, strong jaw and beautiful eyes.

“My father was a Sheriff. If you were free before, maybe you heard of him?”

“Maybe,” Derek said slowly, his eyes shifting to look back at Stiles. He looked curious, “I think I maybe remember my mother mentioning the name.”

Stiles hummed thoughtfully, wondering how his father had come to be mentioned by – presumably – a household of free Weres in hiding. As he pondered this mystery, he shifted, turning to lie on his front, propped up on his elbows.

Derek was watching him, his gaze moving over Stiles’ face from where he lay, looking up at him. If Stiles used his imagination, he could almost see them as two friends relaxing in a bedroom somewhere else, casual and relaxed and free from burden. Derek looked more relaxed than Stiles had ever seen him.

“What is your real name, then?” Derek asked.

“Something virtually unpronounceable,” Stiles dismissed airily. “The only people who could say it properly were my parents, everyone else just called me Stiles, and even my parents did after a while. After they had died, there was no-one left who knew how to say my real name right. When I started working for the Argents I just took on my nickname permanently. My real name ended up being a thing just for me and my parents to share. Now they aren’t here,” He shrugged, as well as a person can shrug when leaning on their elbows on a bed, “I’m just ‘Stiles’.”

Derek did not frown as Stiles feared he would at the sudden turn in conversation toward the miserable again. He just looked calm and content.

“I like ‘Stiles’,” Derek commented.

“Good job, too,” Stiles nodded, “Because Derek’s not too bad either.”

Derek laughed, teeth flashing and his eyes lighting up and Stiles looked down at him and wondered how in all the hells had he managed to earn the attraction of an absolute Adonis; someone who could be so serious and powerful and intimidating, and yet so caring, good-humoured and protective.

“That is not what I meant and you know it,” Derek said, grinning up at him.

Stiles meant to reply. He honestly did. But he was stunned to momentary silence.

Derek’s grin faded a little, “Stiles?” His eyes searched Stiles’ face.

Stiles swallowed, “Derek?”

“Yes?”

“Can I kiss you? Please.”

Derek looked up at him in bewilderment, like no-one had ever asked for his consent for something like that before, and heartbreakingly, Stiles knew that most likely no-one ever had. Derek was looking at Stiles now like Stiles was a puzzle he was still trying to solve.

But Derek did nod his consent, his eyes wide and molten, his lips parting slightly. “Yes,” Derek breathed the word, and if Stiles had not been so close to him, he may not have heard them, “Yes, you can.”

Stiles smiled, and did not allow his nerves the time to set in. He bent his head and pressed his lips to Derek’s.

It was a soft meeting of lips, unhurried and gentle. Derek’s lips were still parted, and Stiles fitted his own around Derek’s bottom lip. Derek made a small noise in the back of his throat, and brought his hand up, gliding it back over Stiles’ shorn - but growing – hair, letting it come to rest at the back of Stiles’ head, keeping him close as Derek pushed himself up from the mattress and caught Stiles’ bottom lip between his teeth.

Stiles moaned quietly, and the noise had Derek pulling him around, so that they were back facing the same direction, Stiles hovering over the length of Derek’s body.

After a short break allowed for the manoeuvring, Stiles kissed Derek again, opening his mouth on a gasp as he felt Derek’s tongue meet the line of his lips.

Stiles allowed himself to rest a hand against one of Derek’s rounded biceps, before reaching up and touching Derek’s hair properly for the first time. It was softer than he had imagined it would be, dark strands spiky but silky between his fingers as he dragged them through it.

Derek rumbled with a low growl, and Stiles was encouraged to do it again. Derek arched up off the bed again, but only ended up pulling Stiles more fully down on top of him. Not that Stiles was complaining.

Their kiss had turned open and hot and messy, and Stiles hoped he had at least some kind of satisfactory technique, inexperienced as he was. Derek did not seem to be complaining, licking into Stiles’ mouth with a lazy ease that Stiles found far too arousing.

Which was why he could not help but feel a little disappointed when Derek finally brought their kiss to a halt.

“Sorry,” Derek breathed up at him, “I got carried away.”

“I wasn’t complaining,” Stiles said earnestly, shifting uncomfortably, hoping to avoid pushing his erection into Derek’s side.

“I know,” Derek looked at him, and he looked almost apologetic, his bottom lip caught between his own teeth, “I just think that we should take things a little more slowly.”

Stiles’ erection said that that was a terrible idea, because hadn’t they already had sex anyway? But Stiles’ main brain agreed with Derek. Taking it slowly was what Derek wanted, and it would help ease Stiles into experiences he had never had before. He was happy to take it slowly for Derek’s sake, and definitely for his own.

“That is alright with me,” Stiles watched Derek’s face shift into a more serious expression. Stiles sighed. “Is it time for the serious talk now?”

“Afraid so,” Derek said, groaning slightly as he sat up, shifting to once again sit against the wall.

Stiles moved reluctantly away from him to sit beside him. Stiles felt a bit better to notice he was not the only one that had been aroused by their intimate moment, the material of Derek’s leather Gladiator pants was straining.

“If you insist,” Stiles sighed dramatically, sending Derek a smile. “You go first.”

“I want to see you again,” Derek started, blunt and no-nonsense as Stiles expected he would be. “Would you like to see me again?”

“I very much would,” Stiles answered immediately. He wanted to spend more time with Derek. He wanted to know more about him, draw him out of his tough-exterior shell a little more each time. He wanted to make him laugh and spend more time just lying together and talking about so much and yet nothing at all. He wanted to kiss Derek again. He wanted to kiss Derek a lot. He wanted to do a whole lot of things with Derek, and if they were going to take it slowly, then they would have to have a number of future secret-meets, and Stiles was already looking forward to them.

“Then there are things we need to consider,” Derek said, “Any future plans we make will have to be planned out like we have tonight, but I do not think we can rely on the Domina…” Derek stopped suddenly, looking pained, “Kate,” He amended, “Being out of the villa each time. If we want to meet fairly regularly, we will have to risk doing it whilst she is here, as Lydia and Jackson do. It also means we will have to consult with Lydia and Jackson, to make sure that we do not organise to meet on the same day, as two house slaves gone is easier to discover than just one. You and I have also decided, by wanting to meet each other, that we are willing to risk others being punished because of it, if we were ever discovered.” Derek shifted, and Stiles caught his hand and squeezed it.

“Scott has relied on me to keep important secrets on his behalf,” Stiles said. It was a complete understatement. Scott and Allison falling in love and seeing each other in secret had been far more risky than anything Stiles had ever done. “I think he would be unhappy to know that I had sacrificed something like this for him. He would support this. He would tell me it was worth the risk.” Stiles had thought about this a lot since Derek first suggested meeting, and what the risks of getting caught would mean for himself and Scott. “We will just have to make sure that Kate never finds out, won’t we?”

Derek looked torn, but only for a split second. He nodded sharply, “I have made the same assessment. I am worried for Peter and for…” He paused, glancing at Stiles, before smoothly moving on. “I think they would want me to pursue something that made me happy. We will have to be incredibly careful.”

“We will be,” Stiles assured. “If Lydia and Jackson have been able to meet for months, I think we will be able to do the same.”

“I think we can make it work,” Derek said, eventually. “But there is another problem,” His voice had become suddenly flat and blank, and he was glaring at the wall opposite them with such sudden intensity that he looked like he was attempting to burn it down through sheer willpower, “She will still keep asking for me. You have to be prepared for that to happen, and there is nothing that either of us can do about it, no matter how much I wish that wasn’t the case. She is still going to use me for sex, and you and your rebellious pride need to come to terms with it.”

Stiles opened his mouth to argue against the ‘rebellious pride’ accusation, but found he had no footing. “Fair enough,” He finally said, lamely, “I can manage that.”

The thought of being with Derek, of potentially falling in love with him, all the while knowing that Derek was constantly being used by a woman that abused her ownership over him, was enough to get his blood boiling to melting point, but it was not really his burden to bear. It was Derek that had to endure her in that way. Derek was giving Stiles an out, but Stiles would never let his anger get the better of him over Derek’s inescapable situation. Derek was worth protecting, and Stiles would be damned if he wasn’t going to do everything in his power to do that. And if that meant controlling his temper on the subject of Kate using Derek, then he could do it, for Derek’s sake.

“Just the thought of her finding out,” Derek’s hand suddenly gripped Stiles’ hand so tightly that it hurt, “She can never know. She would destroy us both. She would kill you and she would punish Scott and she would break me in as many ways as she could,” Derek sounded haunted just thinking about it, “And I want to make sure that you know all the risks before you say that this is worth it.”

Stiles already knew his answer to that question. The man sitting beside him was already broken in some ways, and Stiles knew that the risks were more than worth taking if it meant being able to fix him again, if even just a little.

“Derek,” Stiles urged, tugging Derek’s hand in its vice-like grip, “Hey.”

Derek seemed to suddenly realise that he was holding Stiles’ hand so tight, because his fingers relaxed. He swallowed hard, and Stiles watched his adam’s apple move against the constricting circle of his dark collar.

“It is worth it,” Stiles assured him, leaning in to kiss Derek’s jaw softly, “You are worth it.”

Derek looked at him then, finally, and kissed Stiles in return, hard and demanding on the mouth, for just a moment or two, before he moved away. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you,” Stiles said, “But I don’t thank you for making me really horny and then bringing me down with the serious chat.”

Derek raised an eyebrow, glancing down as if for the first time at Stiles’ erection, a little softer now, but not fully defeated. Stiles watched with fascination as focused heat flooded back into Derek’s gaze, and Derek’s hand almost involuntarily twitched, but Stiles was having none of it.

He tssk-ed his tongue, “Ah-ah. No touching. Taking things slowly, remember?”

“Don’t tease me,” Derek said, voice deeper, rougher, all of a sudden.

“But that is my favourite thing to do,” Stiles said with innocence, leaning in to kiss Derek one last time, because he was not sure how long he had been in Derek’s room, and he knew it was likely growing late. “Is it time I was heading back?”

Derek blinked, and as though broken from some spell, some special world where there was just the two of them, he had been dragged back into reality. “Yes,” Derek said, looking at how low the wax candles had burned down. “Yes, we had best be getting you back.”

The corridors of the Ludus were thankfully still empty of _Wolves_ but it did not feel like long until lock down. Derek led Stiles back to the gate with a hold on his hand this time, rather on his wrist, and it felt far more pleasant and comfortable than Stiles would probably outwardly admit.

They made it back to the gate unchallenged and unseen, and Bennett was waiting on the other side.

“I was just about to come and warn you,” Bennett said shortly, “You were taking your sweet time about it.”

“It was a sweet time, thank you,” Stiles sniped back, and Derek tutted at him sharply. “Sorry,” Stiles added.

Derek shook his head and squeezed Stiles’ hand before letting it go. “Goodnight Stiles.”

“Goodnight Derek,” Stiles returned, before Bennett opened the gate for him and Stiles slipped through it, giving Derek a probably-embarrassing but totally heartfelt little wave before he made his way up the stairs.

Stiles lay in bed that night with the shape of his new book pressing through the mattress into his back, and a smile on his face at the thought of seeing Derek again. For the first time in a long time, Stiles fell asleep content.


	6. Chapter 6

The month of May came warmer than usual, and despite the month dawning calmer than the last and the routine in Kate Argent’s house known to him now – the wrath of Kate Argent known to him now - Stiles found himself breaking the rules and taking more risks than ever before. It had not been intentional, of course. He just found that he was gaining more secrets to keep, and therefore gaining an increased need to tread carefully to make sure those secrets stayed out of his Mistress’ ears and hands. Gaining secrets meant that Stiles was gaining the trust of his fellow house slaves and the Gladiators. It meant that he was making friends. And he would rather have the trust of his friends, than the trust of his Domina.

House slaves reading and writing was not allowed. Stiles had a book. Granted it was courtesy of Allison and a sly hand from Chris that he had come to own it, which meant he had the permission to read in secret from one house of the Argents, but it was not permission from the Argent that now owned him. Whilst the knowledge that Stiles had been given permission by her brother to read might have weakened Kate’s grounds for severe punishment if he were ever discovered, Chris would never have intended for Stiles to become a tutor.

A House slave learning to be literate without permission from the Domina was not allowed. Stiles was now helping Lydia and Kira improve their reading and writing in their free time. Stiles had promised to help Lydia, but after Kira learned of it and then expressed interest, she had joined them as well. As much as larger numbers meant a larger chance of discovery, Stiles did not mind. It meant that he had been able to get to know Kira better; a girl who was initially shy until brought out of her shell. Stiles had learned that Kira had been born free and was literate in her mother tongue, but had only learned to speak their language after being bought as slave. She wanted to learn to read and write it, and Stiles was obliging. Stiles had little idea why Lydia thought she needed help. Lydia was self-taught, and under tuition was the fastest learner Stiles had ever seen. She had better handwriting than he could ever hope for, and was improving significantly each time. Matt and Danny knew that Stiles was helping the girls with their learning. Whilst they had no wish to learn, it did not mean that they were not going to keep it a secret. The house of Kate Argent was probably the least forgiving place for any act of disobedience, but it had meant that her house slaves became master secret keepers, and loyal to each other.

And it was not just the house slaves that were becoming increasingly loyal to each other. The mealtime group of Scott, Erica, Boyd, Isaac, Jackson, Derek and Peter down in the Ludus continued to eat together – sometimes joined by Danny and/or Stiles depending on visiting allowances – and despite the Domina surely knowing of the group eating together, there had been so far no move by her to stop it. Stiles could see that Scott had made firm friends with his fellow Weres – Isaac in particular – and he was glad for him. Stiles had been so afraid for Scott on their arrival at the Ludus, imagining Scott being outnumbered by bigger, stronger Weres, but Scott had found allies quickly, and those allies had become friends.

There was, of course, the underlying, unspoken knowledge that that group might not last very long, and that was maybe why no forbidding word had come from Kate. Maybe it was what she was counting on. She maybe did not expect all the Weres in that group to survive for much longer in the arena. The full moon of the month – Scott’s third – was fast approaching, and whilst Stiles had little doubt that Scott’s handling of the full moon was improving each time, the passing of the full moon meant that the next big tournament; the _First Quarter Moon_ tournament, was also fast approaching. All the Weres in the little group they had formed were due to fight in it, but at every meal it went unspoken of, because they all knew that they were in the same situation, and they all knew how the others were feeling already; the long-serving Gladiators resigned yet confident in their prowess, the newer ones more nervous, but equally determined to survive.

Scott was afraid for his next tournament, Stiles could tell. Stiles knew that Scott believed that he had been lucky the first time, paired with Isaac, but this next fight would be his first solo battle. Stiles had read his book on _Were Lore_ lent to him by Allison and utilised his forbidden pastime to learning as much about Werewolves as he could. He had learnt the true extent of Were powers, and what Scott and the other Gladiators could truly do. Peter had said a number of times, and Derek too, that Scott was showing great promise as a Were and as a Gladiator, and as born Weres, Stiles knew that they would know better than anyone else the qualities of a naturally gifted Were. And they clearly weren’t just saying it to give Scott confidence, because Peter was cynical at the best of times, and his faith in Scott was unusually optomistic for someone who apparently disliked the majority of people.

Stiles had told Scott this, but it had not cheered his friend. Scott had shaken his head, looking sad, glancing to the table of Weres that they were about to go and join, having taken a private moment apart to talk.

“It’s not that,” Scott had said. “I am still afraid to die, of course I am, but I am more afraid of something else.” Scott had taken a deep breath, “One day I might have to kill somebody.”

Stiles had been surprised. He knew that Scott was kind, and caring, and saw the best in everybody bar Kate, Victoria and Gerard Argent, but to Stiles it would have been a no-brainer. If it was between Scott and an opponent, Stiles would have wanted Scott to win every time, no matter what he had to do to make it so. But that was where Stiles and Scott differed. Stiles was more selfish than Scott; caring only for those that mattered to him. Scott was afraid to kill another person, but all the other Gladiators had had to do the same at some point or another. It was an unavoidable circumstance, not choice, and their opponents were in exactly the same position, and would kill them in turn for their chance at survival. Scott would one day have to make a choice to kill or be killed in the arena. It was inevitable. It was not until that day that either of them would truly know what lengths Scott would go to to survive, and whilst Stiles hoped that Scott would be the victor in that situation, he knew of the grievance it would cast on Scott. Scott would be weighted, darkened, hardened by such an experience. It would create a change in Scott potentially far greater than any newfound supernatural powers could.

Stiles dreaded that day more than anything. He dreaded the next tournament and having to see his friends fight, not knowing whether it could very well be their last, and breath their last breaths dying bloody on the sands of the arena. And this was only going to be the third tournament Stiles had witnessed in the house of Kate Argent. He would have this same dread for each tournament each month, possibly for the rest of his life.

He refused to let himself dwell on it in the there and now, because he did not want Scott to dwell on it. He had done the only thing he could have done at that moment in time. He had hugged Scott, and promised him that no matter what, Stiles would always be his brother and always have his back.

Kate Argent had ruled on their first day as slaves in her house that they were no longer brothers, and that Scott’s fellow Gladiators were his brothers now, with bonds forged in blood and sand. Of course, Kate had had no intention for her Gladiators to actually feel like allies, only to say the line when it was called for, to say it for show.Therefore Kate’s words had little meaning to Stiles, and if she did not mean her words, then Stiles was never going to mean his promise to no longer consider himself Scott’s brother.

House slaves were not allowed to fraternise with Were Gladiators beyond approved visiting times. Stiles was best friends with one, and in a secret relationship with another – and not just any other – the Domina’s champion Alpha Gladiator, no less.

Should the number of rules in Kate Argent’s house ever be listed down, and Stiles made to cross off each one he had broken, he would have a fairly large collection after only three months. And whilst that would suggest that Kate was not as good at enforcing her rules as she was at making them, that was not true. Every move Stiles made had to be carefully calculated because any obvious mistake he made was punished as quick as a whip.

“Stiles,” Kate had said, earlier that day, her nails suddenly digging sharp into the back of Stiles’ neck, “What did I tell you about fidgeting?”

“Sorry, Domina,” Stiles had responded immediately, voice tight with the shock of the pain.

“I am trying to teach you poise, Stiles. I am trying to teach you how to be a good house slave to me, but you ignore my instruction.”

“I am sorry, Domina,” He had said again, “It is a habit.”

“Well I will break you of it,” Kate had said, applying a little more pressure with her nails before releasing him, “I will see to that.”

Stiles was never going to avoid punishment for little discrepancies in behaviour. But he would rather face those in favour of keeping his bigger secrets hidden. The little things did not seem so bad in comparison to imagining what the punishment for discovered secrets would be. In regards to his behaviour, Kate was always going to pick up on something about Stiles that irked her, because that was what she liked to do. Stiles knew that the best way to avoid suspicion was to keep acting as normal, because he knew that any significant attempt to keep his head down and trying to act perfectly all of a sudden – an impossible feat, if he were being honest – would likely arouse her suspicion more than acting normally would. Stiles had a reputation for being a less-than-perfect servant which may as well be upheld, because where Stiles lacked talent as a house slave, he had it in spades as a keeper of secrets.

Stiles was pushing the boundaries of ‘forbidden’, ‘rules’ and ‘law’, in a number of ways. He had always tested their flexibility, but now he was testing them with emphasised secrecy.

It was reckless, yes. Foolish, very much so. Punishable, most definitely. But as far as Stiles was concerned, it was most certainly worth it.

House slaves were not allowed to fraternise with Were Gladiators beyond approved visiting times. And Stiles was currently lying on a bed with one.

Stiles turned his head and took in a breath, the scent of Derek and leather and sweat washing over him.

This was their third meeting alone, having met a second time the week previous. Stiles had not known how they would be able to pull off meeting each other whilst Kate was in the house, but the previous week had gone successfully. They had talked some more and praise the gods, kissed some more. Stiles was very much appreciative of the kissing. But they were still determined to take things slowly. How slow, they had never officially outlined, but Stiles could not help but wonder how long they would wait before taking things further. Because he, for one, very much wanted to kiss and touch Derek a whole hells of a lot, but he was happy to take it slowly for the meantime, and it was more than comfy lying there, pressed close to Derek’s side, just lying there in companionable quiet.

Stiles could not help but feel a tension in the air, though, the physical presence of the conversation that they needed to have; the one that explained their pasts and how they had ended up as slaves to Kate Argent. And also how they planned to proceed seeing each other. Serious conversations were on the horizon.

Stiles thought he might as well kick-start them.

He absently fiddled with a leather cord that was tying Derek’s arm guard onto his forearm, and said, “Scott is afraid to kill somebody.”

Derek made a noise of understanding, “Do you think it will affect his determination to win a fight in the arena?”

“I think he is determined to live, for me and Melissa and Allison. I think he would have to be severely forced into it with absolutely no other choice, and I am worried it will get him hurt. But then, killing someone could destroy him. He has, honestly, the kindest and most innocent soul of anyone I have ever met, but that isn’t what a Gladiator needs.”

“You would be more ruthless?”

Stiles glanced up at Derek, to find Derek watching him back. Derek’s hand came up and caught Stiles’, halting its fidgeting and smoothing a thumb over the bumps of Stiles’ knuckles.

“I don’t know,” Stiles said honestly, “I think if I was forced into it that I could be…” He paused, “I am thankful that I am not put in that terrible position. It is hard enough that you all have to.”

“I cannot sway Scott’s opinion,” Derek mused, “But I can speak to him about it, if you think it would help?”

Stiles moved forward to press his lips to the bare skin of Derek’s shoulder in silent thanks.

“I just hope he makes it,” Stiles whispered against Derek’s skin, “I couldn’t lose him too, I couldn’t,” He held Derek’s hand a little tighter, “I am worrying for all of you.”

Derek apparently was not willing to linger on talk of the arena, as he moved rather obviously onto another topic, sounding curious when he asked “Scott was born a slave into Chris Argent’s house?”

Stiles nodded, “Melissa was a slave to the Argents before Scott was born. He was born into service.”

“So you met him when you became a slave to Chris Argent?”

Stiles frowned, moving back a little to look Derek in the eye, searching Derek’s face. He knew what Derek was doing. He was angling the conversation towards the previously avoided-topic; how they had both gone from living in freedom to serving in slavery.

He wanted to make sure, before he said anymore, that that was what Derek had indeed intended to do. Derek watched him steadily back.

“I think I am ready to tell you about myself,” Derek said, voice honest and wavering only slightly, “If you are.”

Stiles could tell how much courage Derek was summoning to finally be ready to speak about his family, and that it was inevitably a terribly sad story that Derek was going to have to live through again by telling Stiles. Stiles was not going to let Derek down by putting off the conversation any longer. He just hoped he would be able to get through his own story without falling back into misery.

Stiles turned onto his side, and Derek released his hand to be able to wrap an arm around him, turning onto his side too, so that they were facing each other, but Stiles dropped his gaze, unable to hold Derek’s gaze for long, as he told him his story.

“I met Scott when I was eleven, not long after my father died. My mother, Claudia, was a seamstress employed by a number of local wealthy families, including Victoria and Allison Argent. I assume she may have made dresses for Kate, as well,” He added bitterly, thinking of Kate’s many beautiful dresses, and how she looked so elegant and stunning, until you found out it was a pretty mask for a poisonous soul. “My mother got ill when I was eight, and she died less than a year later. After my mother died…” Stiles took a sharp intake of breath, remembering trying to wake up his mother and failing. He had crawled into bed next to her and waited for his father to come and find them. His chest suddenly felt too tight and his throat burned with the threat of tears, “My father changed with the grief,” He continued, his voice breaking and betraying the upset. He could have stopped there, and told Derek he could not carry on, but he wanted Derek to know. He wanted him to know so that he could know Derek’s story in turn, and maybe then they could help each other through it. “He tried not to, and I could see him fighting, but he could not help it. He buried himself in his work with a new obsession. I remember that he began investigating crimes with this single-minded focus to solve them, because he wanted to be able to save someone, because he hadn’t been able to save my mother. He turned to drink, too. He wasn’t violent with it, he just sat alone and drank and cried,” Stiles had to pause again, try and compose himself, “And it was awful. They said that the drink was what got him in the end, that his heart gave up. I was all alone and I…” Stiles swallowed hard, blinked back the tears. “I was alone for two days, kept by my father’s colleagues as arrangements were made. But then Chris Argent came. He had heard what had happened and because of my mother’s work for the family and out of respect to my father, he said he would take me in as a house slave to save me from the orphanage and destitution. In three short years my life was just completely stolen from me,” Tears were trailing sluggish paths down his cheeks, and he glanced up as Derek’s hand came up to brush them carefully away. Derek was staring at him, but it was with understanding concern, and Stiles found the strength to say, “I wasn’t a very good slave, at first. I have never been able to follow rules. Chris was patient with me, but I was testing. I tried to run, at first.” Stiles had been beaten for that. He had never tried it again. “But then I met Scott and his mother and slowly things got better. Lady Allison was more like a friend that grew up with us, rather than a Mistress. I adapted to the lifestyle, but I still have the habits and heart of a boy that was free.”

“Don’t lose that,” Derek told him, brushing more tears away and his gaze was determined, “Never lose that.”

“Like you haven’t,” Stiles said. He could see it in Derek’s eyes.

It was something he had always been able to tell when he had met other slaves since becoming one himself; the expressions of the ones who had known nothing but slavery, and the ones who had once been free. The ones who had been born into slavery did not know what it was like to have their own home. They did not know what it was like to run in an open plain with grass between their toes and a whole world before them, a laugh on their lips. Slaves weren’t allowed to have fun like that. Whereas he could see wildness in the once-free slaves, and the anger that they could no longer live the lives that they had. Born-free slaves held the anger of being enslaved, and the born-slaves the resignation of having known no different.

He could see the wild look of a born-free in Derek’s eyes. He had always been able to see it, he realised. Even in the first days at the house and Derek had been reciting orders and throwing threats at Stiles, he had seen that wildness there. He could see it now, a fire dancing in the eyes that stared back at him.

“No, I haven’t,” Derek said adamantly. “I was born a free Were, and I will be a free Were again.”

Stiles could hear the steadfast determination, the iron will, behind that statement, and though it seemed like the most impossible feat, he found himself believing that Derek could achieve it.

“Your family must have been badass,” Stiles said, “To have stayed free for so long.”

He knew Derek was a born Were, which meant he was surely from a family of free Weres, keeping their identity secret so as to remain free.

The statement had its desired effect, despite its teary delivery, because Derek smiled at him.

“They were,” He said, which gave Stiles immediate indication that not many of them were still alive, and the thought made his heart tighten all over again.

“My family lived as free Weres in hiding for generations,” Derek said, pride bleeding into his voice, “We all lived in this big house on the edge of the forest to the east of the city. My mother Talia was the Alpha of the Hale family pack.”

The pride in Derek’s voice did not waver, and Stiles wondered if Derek was finding telling someone about his family – something he surely rarely talked about other than to Peter – comforting. Derek was telling someone about his family for the first time, and he was clearly reliving happy memories, a faint smile on his face. It was as though he was making real his family again, by talking about them to someone new after so long.

“There were fourteen of us all in one house; me, my mother and father, my grandmother, Uncle Peter, my Uncle David, his wife and my three cousins, and my two brothers and two sisters. It was a big house and we all lived in each other’s pockets, and me and my siblings and my cousins and Uncle Peter would row with each other, but we would also run and explore and hunt together,” Derek’s tone was wistful now, “I knew we had it lucky, but even now I don’t feel like I appreciated what I had enough.” And that was when Derek’s expression shuttered, his smile disappearing and his eyes taking on a haunted look, “Not long after my fifteenth birthday there was a fire.”

Stiles reached out to grasp onto Derek’s arm. He had imagined a number of things that could have happened; a raid by Hunters, the family being enslaved…but a fire had not been one of them. The arm Derek had around Stiles tightened.

“Some of us had already gone to bed,” Derek said, voice hoarse, “But the rest were still downstairs. I remember waking up to the smell of smoke and flames and my sister Laura shaking me and screaming at me to wake up. We had to jump out of the window. We tried to get back into the house,” A pause, a hard swallow, the tears started to brim, and Stiles’ heart ached for Derek as the other man got lost in his memories, his eyes flickering with it, “But it was engulfed. There was screaming, but every time we tried to get in the flames ate at us. Eventually the screaming stopped.” Derek’s face scrunched as it all hit him, and the first tear fell and rolled down his face and onto the mattress below them. “We rounded the house to see if anyone else had made it out, and we found Peter,” He took a deep breath, “He was burnt beyond recognition. He had fought his way out with my little sister Cora in his arms. He had been wrapped around her, and had taken the brunt of the flames. He wasn’t conscious. And Cora was still badly burnt.”

Stiles could feel goosebumps rise under his fingers, and he smoothed his hand down Derek’s arm until he found his hand again, squeezing it reassuringly. Stiles remembered his father had worked on a couple of house fire cases, even one after Stiles’ mother had died, and he remembered seeing a couple of the case files. He had seen the destruction, the damage, how it could burn through timber and skin and lives. He had had nightmares about them, and he had not even had to actually live through one. What Derek and his family had been through…Stiles could not even dare to imagine it.

“And that was it,” Derek said. It was blunt, and it was a brutal stab to the chest, “No-one else had made it out. It was just the four of us that survived it. The fire caught and went up so fast, it was like some kind of cursed flame, with hateful magic behind it. No-one had time to do anything. The authorities turned up,” He added, voice dulled all of a sudden, resigned and bitter, “We were all so badly burned that we were taken to the hospital. Peter was in a coma, his face had half-melted away. They didn’t expect him to live. We had not wanted to go to the hospital because we knew our supernatural healing would give us away, but because mother had died, Laura became Alpha. She decided we had to take the risk, because Peter and Cora would get the care they needed and they might not have made it otherwise.” Derek looked down at their hands, drawing his eyes away from Stiles’, “It was a tough decision for Laura to make; after it all being so suddenly put on her shoulders. And I still believe she made the right call, because Peter and Cora survived. But then, the inevitable happened; Laura and I were in full health and free of scars in just a couple of days, Cora a day after that, and Peter was awake after a week, and his face was totally healed. They knew what had happened. They figured out what we were. We were captured and eventually taken to auction.”

Stiles knew what was coming, then. “And the Argents bought you?”

“Gerard Argent was still Dominus of the _Lupus Ludus_ then,” Derek said, looking back at Stiles again, eyes a little red, “He was bidding that day for new Gladiators, and Kate was with him. He was interested in Peter. Peter was twenty-five then, and fighting fit, and his really fast recovery after the fire was a profitable quality, because it would mean he would recover quickly during and after fights. I was not so much of interest to him. I was a year too young to fight and I was very slight.”

Stiles tried to imagine Derek as a fifteen year old boy, dark haired and with a soft-featured young face. He wondered if Derek had been as slight as he was. Although at first he wondered what it was that had changed Gerard’s mind, he quickly realised what the answer would be.

“Cora was far too young to be of any use to him, and Laura was the Alpha of us all. He wanted Peter, so he did not want Peter’s pack Alpha in the same Ludus.  He also did not want to buy slaves that were related. But then Kate stepped in. She asked her father if she could buy me, to see if she could have and oversee the training of her first Gladiator. He eventually let her get her way.”

“And Laura and Cora?” Stiles asked quietly, almost afraid to ask.

“They were bought as house slaves.”

“That’s rare, isn’t it?

“It is,” Derek said, “And despite having absolutely no idea where they are, knowing that they were bought together and that they were bought as house slaves rather than Gladiators is comforting.”

“You don’t know who bought them?”

Derek shook his head. “The man who bought them is a friend of Gerard Argent. They made a deal between them, that we would all be used as bargaining chips to ensure everyone’s good behaviour. Kate said that the day Peter or I became free Weres she will tell us where my sisters are. I know it’s a house in the South, and that is all,” Derek paused, his forehead lining as he frowned, staring at a point near Stiles’ shoulder, “Every fight a Gladiator wins, they are given some form of cash reward. It is not much, but it is enough to give Gladiators motivation to fight and something to save and work for. It is how Jackson can afford to pay off Bennett’s silence, but most Gladiators just save it up in the hopes of one day earning their freedom. No Gladiator has ever bought their freedom from this Ludus, but it has been known elsewhere. Peter and I are actually saving really well. But we aren’t just saving for us, we are saving to buy Laura and Cora’s freedoms too.”

Stiles started, “But you are spending money to pay off Bennett too! In order to see me!” Stiles squeezed Derek’s hand urgently, “You aren’t saving as much money anymore because of me.”

“I am paying off Bennett,” Derek said, and he did not seem as torn about that particular point as he was about everything else. He was only matter-of-fact about it, and looked at Stiles with a determined smile, “But it’s worth it. I would rather take a little more time in order to save up, than not see you at all. If my sisters were here they would be cheering us on. It would be very embarrassing.”

Stiles felt a little less guilty, then. He took a breath, “Good, because I would hate to think that I was a reason for delaying your freedom. I can always look into finding another way to pay off Bennett.”

“No,” Derek said firmly, “I am handling it.” Despite his strict tone, Derek leant forward to press a kiss to Stiles’ temple. “Just trust me.”

“I do,” Stiles said immediately, because he did. “So, your sisters would approve of me, huh?”

Derek grinned at him, brightened a little, looking thoughtful, considering, “You would like Cora,” He said eventually, “You two would get on well.”

“Why? What’s she like?”

“Stubborn, fiery, sharp-witted.”

“All the best traits.”

“If you say so,” Derek said, smirking as Stiles lightly punched him in the arm for it. “She always said so. Erica reminds me a lot of her too, actually.”

“And Laura?”

“Laura,” Derek considered again, “Laura is a naturally powerful wolf and a born leader. I looked up to her when we were young, because she just had this instinct that I did not seem to possess in the same way. I struggled with control and had a typical Beta nature. She taught me how to control my shifts as much as my parents did. She’s fierce, beautiful, and unafraid. Or at least, she was seven years ago,” Another long pause, “That is the problem. I have not heard anything of either of them in years, other than when Kate tells me their fates are in my hands. I don’t know how they have been treated, I do not know whether Laura’s recklessness or Cora’s temper have gotten them into trouble. They may have escaped, they may still be slaves to that man, or he could have sold or sent them elsewhere. I wouldn’t know. All I have to rely on is Kate’s word, and I don’t trust her.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes in thought, as a possible solution slowly presented itself in his mind, “I could ask Allison if she knows about them?”

Derek blinked at him, looking stunned, “Allison Argent?”

“Yes, Allison. I can ask her if the names mean anything to her, and even if she doesn’t know anything about it, she could look into it. In any case it would be worth a try, at least.”

Derek’s expression turned dubious and wary, “But she is an Argent.”

Stiles could see the flighty look in Derek’s eyes, and he did not blame him. Derek did not know Allison, and did not really know Chris. He only knew Kate and Gerard, and it was little wonder he did not trust a person with the surname ‘Argent’.

“Allison isn’t like them,” Stiles insisted, letting go of Derek’s hand and running his fingers reassuringly up Derek’s arm. “I promise you. She is kind and smart and she knows how act in secret. She knows how to keep a secret, and she has ones of her own that she trusts me with,” He searched Derek’s face imploringly. “She will help in any way that she can, and she will do it discreetly. I know she will.”

Derek’s hazel-green eyes were still untrusting, but less so than before, “She would do it for you, but it would obviously be for me.”

“She would keep anything secret for me and Scott. You have to trust me, and I trust her. I do.”

Derek’s gaze swept over Stiles’ face, before his lips quirked in the beginnings of a tentative smile, “You really think she would help?”

“I know she would certainly try, if she doesn’t already know something about it. I doubt she will know anything, but she has the skills to find out more if she can. I will only be able to ask her next time I see her, though, and I am not sure when that will be, so it might not be for some time but I hope it can…” Stiles was cut off mid-flow, as Derek suddenly closed the space between them and kissed him soundly.

Stiles let out a breathy, pleased sound and kissed Derek back.

“Thank you,” Derek pulled back to murmur against his lips, “Thank you.”

Stiles smiled at him, snuggling into Derek’s arms as Derek wrapped them around him. They lay like that for some time, and Stiles rested his head on Derek’s chest, feeling the quickened pace of his heart, and knowing rather than seeing the smile that had crept its way onto Derek’s face.

*

Derek combed his fingers through the short hair on the back of Stiles’ neck as they lay wrapped up together on the bed. Stiles was warm and pliant in Derek’s arms and Derek absently pulled him closer. Derek was overwhelmed by Stiles’ offer to ask Allison if she knew anything, or could discover anything, of his sister’s whereabouts. Although he still did not trust the Argents, he trusted Stiles, and if Stiles really was as close to Allison Argent as he claimed to be, and vouched for her character, then Derek knew it was worth a try. He had wanted for so long to learn the location of the house his sisters had been enslaved to, or even just find out that they were still alive, but Kate had never told him a thing. He had been running out of hope of finding any information relevant to his cause before the day he bought his freedom, and he had been counting down the years it would take to get there, but Stiles had given him hope. Stiles had been giving him a lot of hope of late.

There was something about Stiles that allowed him to be himself, to remove the mask of the _Undefeated Alpha_ and the expectation of the champion Gladiator, allowed him to hope and laugh and feel things that he had not felt for anybody in a very long time. Whilst he knew that he was slowly opening up to his fellow Weres, it had only been since the arrival of Scott and Stiles to Kate Argent’s house that he had truly allowed himself to do so. He did not know what it was about the pair of them that brought people together and encouraged them to remove their masks - possibly because they were so open and honest with each other, and it bled into the people around them – he was not sure.

What he was sure of, was that he had not spoken about his family in a long time. He talked with Peter about Laura and Cora, but he could not remember the last time they had spoken about the rest of their lost family. They rarely did talk of it. Derek always fond the pain still too raw, and Peter would always descend into a quiet, devastated rage that only spelled trouble, so it was best to be avoided. Derek had never imagined telling his story to anyone else, because if he could not even talk about it with his own uncle, he did not think he could tell a stranger who had never met the people he was talking about, that never knew what it was he was missing. But somehow, it was different with Stiles. Derek wanted to tell him things, share things with him, he wanted to learn about Stiles.

And now that he had told his story, he knew he had made the right decision in telling Stiles, because Stiles was as understanding as Derek knew he would be, and Derek did not feel overwhelmed in despair as he sometimes did when thinking of his family. He felt the loss, the sadness, the pain. But he also felt light, and even a little heartened, to be able to talk about his family again.

He had not spoken of them in so long, talking about them again had brought them vividly to the forefront of his mind once again. He had happy memories replaying on a loop in his head, as faces and names and feelings and the warmth of home flowed over him. It was freeing to talk about them again, to tell someone new their names and keep the memory of his family alive, making them live again in someone else’s mind, so that it was not just him and a minority of others who still remembered them, or knew their names.

He remembered his mother, Talia; inspirational, influential and strong. He remembered her dark hair, and how it cascaded around her whenever she swept him up into her arms for a hug. He could always feel how fiercely she loved her pack, and loved him. His father, Thomas, held that same protective love, but he was not a leader, like Derek’s mother had been. Derek’s father had been the house-proud one, the one that cooked meals for the whole family and demanded that everyone be present at the table on time. His grandmother Elia had been as fierce as his mother in the way that she loved them, and in the way that she fought for the family traditions and the need to keep their gift secret from the rest of the world. His Uncle David and Aunt Marie had essentially been a second mother and father, and his cousins Callum, Erin and Lois an extra set of siblings. But of course, Derek had had his own siblings, too. Derek had been the very middle one of the five children of Talia and Thomas Hale; Laura the eldest, Oliver the second, Derek the middle, Jacob fourth and Cora the youngest.

Laura and Cora were exactly as he had described them to Stiles, and he missed them terribly, just as he missed his brothers, and he did miss them, so very much. Oliver had always found everything easy; good looking, likeable, confident and good at everything, and although as a young teenager Derek had wished to be more like his big brother, he had never resented him for it. Oliver had not been the kind of person it was possible to resent; quick to laugh and terribly modest. Jacob had been quick to smile too, but it had tended to be more of a mischievous smirk. He had liked to pester and prank and wind up his cousins and Cora in particular, but he had been cute enough to get away with it. Jacob had been Peter’s favourite, because they had been so very alike in nature. Jacob had looked the most like Derek of all Derek’s siblings; his hair just as dark and his eyes a very similar colour, but a little more hazel than green. Laura and Cora both had the same light brunette hair, but whilst Laura’s eyes were light like their father’s, Cora’s were dark like their mother’s. Oliver had also had those deep brown eyes, but his hair had been lightest of the five of them.

He remembered family dinners, playing board games in the late evening with his siblings, exploring the forests, and running free and transformed in the depths of the trees, where no-one would see.

He let the memories of his family, the images of their faces, the feeling of home wash over him, and he breathed into Stiles’ hair, closing his eyes. Stiles’ long limbs were wrapped around him, and ever the fidget, Stiles’ fingers were drumming the rhythm of Derek’s heartbeat against Derek’s chest, near to where his head lay.

It was quiet and peaceful. And it felt like too short a time before Stiles stirred and had to leave him.

“See you again soon?” Stiles asked him, gaze eager and a small smile playing around his lips.

Derek nodded, “Soon,” he promised.

He lifted a hand to Stiles’ smooth jaw, tilting Stiles’ face up so that he could kiss him, wrapping his other arm around Stiles’ waist to pull him against him. Stiles’ hands flew to Derek’s hair and he hummed happily. Derek teased at Stiles’ lips a little longer, before drawing away.

“You tease, Hale,” Stiles hissed at him, eyes narrowed playfully. “Will I be forever left wanting?”

Derek grinned at him, “Maybe next time,” He said.

Stiles’ eyes widened, “Is that a promise?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe is good enough for me,” Stiles winked at him, and Derek rolled his eyes.

“Don’t make me reconsider that ‘maybe’.”

“No, no, don’t do that,” Stiles said. And then the smile faded a little from his face, “Do you think we will be able to meet again before the _First Quarter_ tournament?”

“I don’t know,” Derek said honestly. His training would be more focused and full-on, and in the time between the full moon and the next tournament, the _Wolves_ were given less time to themselves. “I hope so,” He added.

Stiles smiled at him, “Me too,” He said, before gesturing toward the door, “So, are you going to escort me back?” Stiles held out a hand, and beamed when Derek actually reached out and took it.

***

When Stiles had made his promise to Derek to ask Allison if she knew anything about the whereabouts of Laura and Cora Hale, he had made sure to warn Derek that it could be weeks and weeks until he saw Allison again, and potentially even longer than that before he had another chance to talk to her alone in private.

He had fully expected that to be the case, with how little he had actually seen Allison in the months since he had become a slave for Kate Argent. But in the end, he did not have to wait very long at all. He only had to wait about a week; until the full moon of the month.

The morning following the full moon, Stiles was dealing with handfuls of unclean laundry, when he was alerted to the arrival of Chris Argent to the house by the slam of the door and the raised voice as he demanded to know where his sister was.

Unable to ignore his curiosity, Stiles abandoned the laundry that still needed to be cleaned, and swiped up a pile of sheets and clothing that had already been washed, pressed and neatly folded, in order to make it look like he was keeping busy and not just snooping. He walked out the laundry room and down the corridor that led out of the slaves’ rooms, following the voices at the other side of the house.

By the time he reached the corridor to Kate’s study room and lounge, however, Chris Argent was already in the room, the door closed, and he was in some kind of heated discussion with his sister, judging by the tones of their voices. But there was still someone in the corridor.

Allison was standing outside of the room, her ear pressed to the wood of the door. Allison had always hated being told to ‘wait outside’ by her father, and Stiles had often found her eavesdropping outside of conversations she had been barred from.

Allison had been trained by her parents from a young age how to hunt and how to fight; coming from a family that had a long history in hunting Supernaturals before enslaving them ever became norm, it was a tradition that had been upheld through the generations. She had been talk tracking and stalking, she had been taught hand-to-hand combat and weapons training. She excelled in archery. Her training had given her a skill set that she had never actually had to use against a supernatural, but she had used her tutored stealth against her parents many times.

It also meant that her senses were honed and it was near impossible to sneak up on her when she was not distracted. So, despite Stiles’ soft-sandaled treads on the stone flooring of the corridor, she heard him coming. She sharply turned away from the door, but on seeing that it was him and not one of her aunt’s guards, he saw her visibly relax.

“Stiles,” She said, keeping her voice quiet, as she walked quickly down the corridor towards him. She pulled him into a hug. “How are you?”

“I’m alright,” Stiles said, unable to stop himself from glancing around nervously just to make sure that they weren’t being watched.

Allison caught onto his movement, “There isn’t anybody here. Aunt Kate sent all the guards away whilst she spoke to my father.”

“He sounds angry,” Stiles looked toward the door, which somewhat muffled the loud voices within. “What’s going on?”

“Someone was attacked by a rogue Were last night. A serving boy from some family that father is politically associated with. Father thinks it’s the same rogue Alpha Were that attacked Scott, because the boy was bitten too.”

“And has the boy changed?” Stiles searched her face, and knew that she was concentrating hard in order to keep her face from crumpling. She always made that expression when she was trying to ward off tears or worry or concern.

“He didn’t survive the bite.”

Stiles stared at her for moment, the terrible memories of the night Scott was bitten crashing over him. He remembered the terror he had felt at the thought of Scott not surviving the night, but then he had, and then Stiles had had to face the horror of Scott being sent away for what he had become.

“Have they caught the rogue Were?” He asked.

Allison shook her head, “They just found the boy. Father has suspicions that Scott and the boy’s attacks are no coincidence. He thinks they were targeted attacks from a political opponent. But to be sure that it is not just a rogue Were in hiding, father is asking Aunt Kate whether it would be worth setting up a hunt.”

Stiles frowned, “Surely Kate will want the Were found?”

“I think she will as well. I just do not know whether she will want to put time and resources into it when she has the major tournaments for the Ludus to focus on.”

They fell into a silence, and Stiles found himself slipping back into the memories of the full moon when Scott was bitten. They had not often been sent out on errands so late in the day, but one of the horses had lost a shoe, and Scott had offered to go to the blacksmiths to order some more. The darkness had just settled, but the moon had been shining brightly, and Stiles had left Scott with the horses that they had taken with them for less than two minutes, before he had heard the scream and had gone running back. He could remember that scream so clearly.

“I finished the book,” Stiles blurted, for need to distract himself, “Thank you for sending it. I should probably give you it back. I can go and get it now.”

“I will come with you,” Allison offered, moving to follow Stiles down the corridor.

“But…” Stiles started, panicked, “If you are caught wandering the house…”

“Father told me to wait outside the room,” Allison interrupted him smoothly, “But he did not specify where. Father and Aunt Kate will probably be in there for some time. The guards have all been sent away. If we are seen I will tell them it was all my idea.”

Stiles watched her for a moment, weighing up the pros and cons, but he knew that he had just been presented with a perfect opportunity to ask Allison about Laura and Cora Hale whilst they had a moment alone.

“Ok,” Stiles agreed, he shifted his hold on the pile of clean laundry and turned to lead her out of the corridor and back towards the slaves’ quarters.

“You know, there has not been many occasions where it has been me having to talk you into doing something against the rules,” Allison commented quietly as she kept pace with him at his side, “My aunt has made you like this hasn’t she?”

Stiles glanced down her, and could see her watching him with concern. “The rules are a little different here,” He said, “My sense of self-preservation is higher in some respects, and not in others. I have learnt a little more about subtlety. ”

“That is what I like to hear,” Allison grinned at him, looking relieved of all things, that Stiles was still causing trouble, if only a little differently in this household.

“You know you are not supposed to support unruliness, you know?”

“Where would be the fun in that?” She winked at him.

If Allison had not supported unruliness, she would not be in love with Scott McCall. Allison was an expert at bending and breaking the rules.

As Allison had promised, the house seemed completely deserted. There were no guards, and Stiles had mentally assessed the probable locations of the other house slaves depending on what chores they had been assigned to that morning. The slaves’ rooms would be deserted, and hopefully the hallway outside would be as well.

They reached the hall that branched into the first corridor of the slave’s quarters, the steps down to the Ludus not far away. Stiles balanced the laundry in one arm as he freed a hand to place it on Allison’s shoulder and plant her in the shadows of the entrance to the corridor.

“I will go and get the book,” He said, “I will be right back.”

Allison nodded, and Stiles hurried down the corridor and into the room he shared with Danny and Matt. He pulled the book from where he had been keeping it between the bedframe and the thin mattress, and tucked it inside the pile of fresh laundry, before lifting it again and carrying it back toward her. When he reached her, he pulled the book from the pile and handed it to her quickly.

Allison took it and stowed it into the bag she had strapped across her chest, over the archery gear she was wearing.

“I will see what I can do about getting another to you,” Allison said.

Stiles knew he should have said no, that it was too risky, but the thought of a new book to read and the idea of new reading material to go through with Lydia and Kira had him smiling at her, “That would be great, thanks.”

“Maybe a book about Supernatural lore, now that you are educated on Were lore?”

“Maybe that would be a good idea,” Stiles admitted, “I didn’t realise quite how ignorant I was of it all before.”

Allison shrugged, “In this day and age Supernaturals are so associated with slavery and Gladiators that it can be unpleasant to learn about how they are treated. I don’t blame you for not wanting to be involved in all that; I know your parents were not supporters of Gladiator fights either. But I think you need to learn about the powers of Supernaturals and about what they can do.”

Stiles nodded in agreement, “It has helped me understand Scott’s powers a lot more. So thank you.”

Allison smiled at him, wrapping an arm around his waist briefly, “You are welcome.”

Stiles knew that they had to be getting back to Kate’s study, but he also knew that he had a promise to keep.

“I have another favour to ask of you as well, Allison.”

Allison looked curious, “Anything,” She said, and it was completely earnest, and Stiles felt yet again, how lucky he was to have Allison Argent as a friend.

“Do the names Laura and Cora Hale mean anything to you?”

Allison frowned, “The surname Hale does, what with Peter Hale and Derek Hale, but I don’t recognise those names.”

“Laura and Cora are the sisters of Derek, and the nieces of Peter,” Stiles explained quickly, eyes flicking around the hall around them cautiously. He drew Allison closer to him, deeper into the shadows beside the corridor. “On the day Derek and Peter were bought by your grandfather in auction, Laura and Cora were bought by a man that lives in the South – a friend of your grandfather’s apparently. Do you know anything about that? Or about them?”

Allison thought for a moment, but as Stiles expected she would, she shook her head. “I am sorry, Stiles. My family do not involve me in those kind of arrangements. I don’t recognise the names.”

“Do you think your father would know?”

“Possibly. He might have paperwork about the deal or something. I could have a look, or make some subtle enquiries.”

“They would have to be really, really subtle,” Stiles insisted, “Derek and Peter aren’t allowed to know where they are and I assume it is the same with Laura and Cora. If your aunt found out that they had been trying to find out, they would be punished.”

“I understand, and whilst I am happy to look into it for you and keep it secret, I am curious as to why you want to help them?”

“Derek and Peter have been Scott’s trainers. They have put a lot of work into helping him and preparing him for the full moons and the arena. They have helped him assimilate and stopped him from being targeted by the other Gladiators. I wanted to do something to thank them. And…” Stiles said, because Allison was watching him with the knowing look that there was more to it than that, “Derek is my friend, and I want to help him.”

Allison’s gaze was steady and perceptive, “I understand,” She said again, “And I will do it. I don’t know how much I will be able to find out, if I am sworn to secrecy on it as well, but I will do my best.”

Stiles smiled gratefully, “Thank you.”

Allison smiled back at him, eyes lighting up, and she reached out and squeezed Stiles’ arm. “It is nice to see you smile properly,” She said. “I miss you, Stiles.”

“I miss you too,” Stiles told her, meaning every word. “We had best be getting you back to your father.”

Miraculously, they met nobody on their way back to Kate’s study, and when they got to the closed door, Chris and Kate Argent were still shut inside.

However, they had not long reached the door - Stiles just about to leave Allison there - when the door flew open and Chris walked out. His eyes fell on Stiles and Allison. “Stiles,” He acknowledged, before looking to his daughter, “Come along, Allison, we have work to do.”

Allison looked at Stiles, smiled at him and then followed her father down the corridor and out of sight.

When Stiles turned around he almost jumped out of his skin when he found Kate in the doorway watching him.

“Domina,” He said, “Can I get you anything?”

“No,” Kate told him, “But you can come in here for a moment.”

Stiles swallowed and followed Kate into the room. He stood in the centre on the room, flexing his fingers nervously in his hold on the pile of laundry still in his arms.

Kate was silent for a long time. Finally she spoke into the heavy silence between them, “How is Lady Allison?”

“I believe she is in good health, Domina,” Stiles said, “I have been doing laundry all morning, and was just bringing some of your dresses to return to your wardrobe when I noticed Lady Allison was there. She had only just asked me how I was, and then the door opened and Lord Christopher came out…”

His explanation was cut off by the crack of skin on skin as she backhanded him around the face.

“If we had not come out when we did, you would have spoken to her more, I am sure of that,” Kate hissed at him, “And you must not speak to her without my express permission. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Domina,” Stiles said, tasting blood as he spoke. His lip had split.

Kate’s eyes were burning in anger, but Stiles knew it was likely anger that she had been unable to unleash on her brother that she was now releasing on him.

“Good,” Kate said, and she visibly took a breath, her eyes clearing just a little, before she dismissed him, “You will have to rewash those sheets,” Kate said, curling her lip at the pile still in Stiles’ arms, “You have gotten blood on them.”

***

The _First Quarter Moon_ tournament came around as quickly as Stiles feared it would.

He was picked to serve Kate on the VIP platform of the arena, along with Kira and Lydia. Kate could have picked Danny or Matt, as Stiles had served her for three tournaments in a row, but apparently Kate either liked having him on display and being able to test his skills as server, or liked forcing him to watch Scott fight. Probably both.

The VIP balcony was much the same as it always was; the faces of the usual lords and ladies becoming familiar to him now. Chris, Victoria and Allison were in attendance, sitting alongside Kate as usual. But a new person had taken the seat on Kate’s other side.

Stiles had blanched when he had seen Lord Ithan slide like a snake into the seat next to Kate, his lecherous gaze lingering on Stiles for longer than was comfortable. Thankfully, Ithan did not seem to want to make public spectacle of so openly staring at Stiles, and instead was fully focused on his conversations with Kate.

There was another person Stiles had not yet seen on the VIP balcony as well; a man everybody called ‘Coach’. From what Stiles had gathered from snatches of conversation and his fellow house slaves, Coach – actually called Bobby Finstock - was a man who had risen from a very low social status to become advisor of a Ludus owner by the name of Lord Harris. Coach apparently had a flare for tournaments, and knew the ins and outs of the arena-game like few others did. He had a knack for tactics, strategy and training, and he was a very lucky gambler when it came to picking who would win a fight. For a man who was still seen by many as a commoner, due to his roots, it was easy to see that other Ludus owners envied Lord Harris for having Coach as an employee, and that Coach also had a large influence on the people – and the bets made – around him in the VIP balcony.

Coach Finstock was also a loud man, and Stiles could hear him making comment on the fights below to Lord Harris, even from the other side of the balcony.

It had actually been quite enlightening, listening to Coach. Not only did Stiles find listening to the man a welcome distraction from what really was going on in the arena below, but it was also comforting that when Erica walked out onto the sands, Coach immediately decided that she was going to win the fight.

And win it she did. Stiles had not seen Erica fight before. She fought scrappily, her claws elongated and her yellow eyes burning bright. She had been bloody, but victorious when she left the arena, littered with claw marks that thankfully did not look too deep. Her opponent had been given the chance to live.

Isaac’s fight was stressful. Despite Coach claiming that Isaac would win, he also said it would be by a very slim margin, and a number of lords and ladies bet against Coach’s prediction, against Isaac’s victory. Isaac’s opponent was a lot bigger than Isaac in stature, and Stiles’ throat tightened at the sight of him. The moment that Isaac’s opponent swept out with a large, clawed hand, and it collided with Isaac’s head, sending Isaac to the ground, Stiles’ heart leapt, fearing that Isaac was defeated. Isaac’s opponent had clearly thought the same, approaching Isaac almost casually. Isaac was sprawled on his front on the sandy ground of the arena, but the moment his opponent got close enough, Isaac viciously struck out at the back of his opponent’s heel. His opponent went down to his knees immediately with a howl of pain, as Isaac scrambled away and staggered to his feet. His opponent tried to rise again, but failed. Isaac then waited for the thumbs-up or thumbs-down, a trail of blood making a steady path down the side of his face. The calls of ‘ _Gravedigger_ ’ encouraged the majority of the crowds to give a thumbs-down, to watch the _Gravedigger_ go to work. Stiles watched Isaac’s lips move as he said something to his opponent, before he sliced his opponent’s throat.

As Isaac had staggered from the sands and Stiles heard Coach announce for all the ‘fools’ to ‘pay up’, Stiles felt his fear growing for Scott. He did not know if Scott would survive his fight, and even if he did, Stiles did not know if Scott would be able to kill his opponent. And if Scott refused, what would happen then? Stiles had not heard what happened to Gladiators that refused the crowds and refused to kill their opponent, and he had been too afraid to ask and find out. It would certainly make Kate furious at any rate, and Scott would probably face some terrible punishment, because if the crowds decided they did not like him, it would look badly on her Ludus, and maybe she would decide that a Were like that was not worth her time or money. But Stiles would have to wait in fear for another hour or so. At this particular tournament, because there were so many fights, new Were fights were scheduled for the middle of the day, around the time that snacks began to circulate the arena, because the attention of the crowds always dipped in the middle of the day, before the start of the Alpha fights.

Stiles would have to get through Boyd and Jackson’s fights first.

Boyd won his fight with a surprising grace and ease. Stiles was not surprised. Boyd had this quiet confidence, an intimidating presence, but the grace of a dancer. He walked from his fight with barely a scratch, but his opponent did not. He had been given the thumbs-down, and Boyd had had to kill him. Stiles had heard the crowd cheering the name ‘ _Ice Wolf_ ’ when Boyd won, and Stiles wondered how Boyd had managed to earn himself that name, just as he wondered how on earth Isaac had earned the title of _Gravedigger._

The fight before Jackson’s fight, another Beta from the _Lupus Ludus_ was killed. Stiles choked with surprise when it happened. All the _Lupus Ludus Wolves_ were such successful fighters, that although Stiles had seen a _Lupus Ludus_ Were lose a fight in the three tournaments he had seen, he had never seen a _Lupus Ludus_ Were lose a fight and then their life. He had not known the Beta at all, and had never spoken to him, only wordlessly serving food to him when on duty in the dining hall. He thought his name was Jim, or Tim, or something like it. Although he had not really known him, he still felt the loss, the pain of watching a Gladiator from the _Lupus Ludus_ just die like that. Unceremoniously and bloody on the sand. It made him realise that he had become complacent about his horror at any death on the sands – he now seemed to only really care about the _Lupus Ludus Wolves,_ even if it was them that had to do the killing, he thought about how they would be feeling, rather than that they had just ended a life. He realised that that was probably because of his concerns for Scott, reflecting on his outlook on the fights.

He felt his fear for Scott multiply, his heart thumping wildly, a cold sweat building on the back of his neck. His throat felt too tight. He looked at Allison, but she seemed to be in a glazed-off world of her own, her expression severe. Maybe she was thinking the same thing as him.

Jackson must have known about the death of the other Beta, because he seemed to fight with an enhanced furiousness, and Lydia watched the whole fight stock-still with tension beside Stiles, her eyes fixed unblinking on the sands. Jackson’s fight ended with his opponent dead, as well; the crowd seemed to be baying for blood that day.

It was not looking good for Scott.

By the time Scott emerged onto the sands, looking so soft and small compared to some of the giant Gladiators that had proceeded him, Stiles’ heart was in his mouth.

He half-heard someone ask Coach Finstock who Scott was, and Coach replied that it was Kate Argent’s newest Were from the _Lupus Ludus._ He said he had not seen Scott fight before, but from looking at him now, he reckoned his odds weren’t great. But, Coach also said, Scott had been a pupil of Derek and Peter Hale, so there was some hope for him at least. Stiles prayed that Scott proved them wrong, as bets began to be made against him. He prayed that Scott proved them all wrong.

Stiles turned his whole focus to the sands, jaw clenched and teeth digging painfully into his tongue.

Scott’s fight passed in a blur of fear and horror for Stiles. Scott did not seem willing to enter into combat, but that was before his opponent seemed to goad him, swiping at Scott a couple of times and causing blood to blossom on Scott’s skin. Stiles felt sick. Scott fought back, but seemed to be doing everything he could to disarm or bring down his opponent without causing him too serious an injury. It just meant that his opponent got more chances to try and injure Scott more seriously in turn.

“Come on, Scott,” Stiles whispered out harshly between clenched teeth, “Come _on._ ”

He did not know if Scott heard him – maybe with his collar removed he could – because for a moment, yellow eyes raised and stared up at the VIP balcony. Scott looked different changed, teeth elongated in his mouth and his usually soft dark eyes a hard yellow.

The next time Scott’s opponent swiped at him, Scott ducked. But then the opponent leapt at him, crashing them both to the floor.

Stiles let out a panicked squeak and jerked forwards a step. He froze when he saw Kate turn around in her seat to eye him. He did not dare move before she had turned disinterestedly back to the sands.

Lydia reached out and encircled his wrist with her fingers in warning. Stiles glanced at her, panicked, before she flicked her eyes towards the sands, silently telling him to ‘look’.

Stiles did look, and saw with some surprise that Scott must have had managed to land the pair of them awkwardly against the floor, crashing his opponents head into the ground, because his opponent was lying face down on the sand and unmoving – unconscious – and Scott was standing above him, looking down at him with what also looked like surprise.

“Lucky fluke,” Stiles heard one of the lords further down the balcony comment. “That was a poor excuse for a fight.”

“I don’t know,” Coach was saying slowly, “I think the kid knows his weaknesses. I think he is possibly smarter than he looks. I think he is going to be surprising.”

Around them, thumbs were going up or down. Allison’s was up, giving Scott’s opponent life, and her parents did likewise. Most of the lords and ladies in the balcony seemed to think that killing an unconscious opponent wasn’t very sporting or exciting, because most thumbs went up, and the crowds seemed to follow suit. There were grumbles about a boring fight. Kate did not say anything.

Stiles let out a tight breath of relief.

Scott had gotten away with it a second time. Stiles would just have to make sure Scott had the determination to get through the third time, and the fourth time, and the fifth time, and all the times after that.

Stiles watched Scott walk all the way off the sands, limping a little, and holding his injured arm awkwardly. Scott’s opponent’s Were-healing had him waking up within moments of Scott walking away, and he made a hasty retreat to the opposite exit.

Scott’s fight was over, but Stiles’ concerns were not. Stiles then had Derek’s fight to worry about as well.

Peter’s went successfully, and was just as bloody as Stiles expected it would be. Peter strolled out onto the sands, bowing for the crowds who roared with cheers for him, and then he made an absolute mess of his opponent, strips of flesh and blood flying everywhere. Stiles had to avert his eyes. He heard the fight end, rather than watched it. When he looked back, Peter had blood all down his front and staining his face, but barely any of it was his own. His opponent was crumpled at his feet. Peter fixed his eyes on the VIP balcony and bowed with intent, expression fixed and fierce, before he turned on his heel and departed the arena like he had merely been out for an afternoon stroll.

Finally, it was Derek’s fight. Stiles felt his nerves and his fear build all over again. He knew Derek was more experienced than Scott, and was a champion fighter who knew exactly what he was doing, but he was still afraid for him. He knew the real Derek, the human Derek, that the people around him did not seem to know existed. All they saw was a champion Alpha Were – a creature that could win fights and win them money in a bet. He tightened his hands into fists, hoping that Derek would win and would come out of the fight uninjured.

He had not been able to see Derek in private before the tournament. He had not been able to meet with him since the occasion that Derek had decided to tell Stiles about his family, and had in turn asked Stiles about his own. He had hoped he would have been able to see him properly before the tournament, to wish him luck, to spend some time with him, but it had not come to pass.

But Stiles had seen him briefly in the house a few days before the tournament.

“Stiles,” Derek had said to him.

The corridor had been deserted, and Stiles had pressed back into a shadowed alcove, beckoning Derek toward him. “Can I see you before the tournament?” Stiles had asked immediately.

Derek had shaken his head, looking apologetic, “It is too hectic in the Ludus, I don’t think it will be possible.”

“Oh,” Stiles had said, attempting to hide his disappointment.

“I will work out something for afterward,” Derek had promised.

“Ok.” Stiles had smiled at him, trying to mask his worry about the tournament ahead, “Just, make it through the tournament, alright? Don’t die, or I will kill you.”

Derek had actually grinned, “That is a little morbid, Stiles.”

“Well, don’t give me reason to get morbid, then,” Stiles had said.

“I will try not to.” Derek’s smile had softened momentarily, before his expression had turned more serious, “You know I have to salute her at the end of every fight?”

Stiles did know. He knew that Kate had ordered Derek to salute her at the end of every successful fight in the arena; another way for her to exert her power over him, to make it look like Derek’s success was all because of her. All for her.

“Yes?”

“This time,” Derek had said, moving so that he could take one of Stiles’ hands, “I am not going to be saluting to her.”

Stiles had been a little speechless, and Derek had ducked his head, eyes hardening as he looked away, “I have to go,” He had said, “See you soon.”

“Derek,” Stiles had said, not letting go of Derek’s hand when he had tried to pull away, “Good luck.”

Derek’s lips had tilted a fraction, “Thanks, Stiles. I will see you soon, ok?”

“Ok,” Stiles had breathed, letting go of Derek’s hand and watching him walk away.

So here Stiles stood, hoping that he would get to see Derek’s salute at the end of a successful fight, whether it was meant for him or not.

Derek’s red eyes were bright and Stiles tried to focus on them, rather than what Derek’s claws, and his opponents claws were doing. Someone threw a couple of swords into the arena when the stand-off lasted too long, and Derek swept his up with a single-minded focus. Stiles watched the fluidity of Derek’s movements, the bunching and rippling of his muscles as he moved, dodged and struck forward. Stiles watched the dark-haired head, knowing how soft that hair was to touch, how those red eyes could also be a beautiful shade of hazel-green. He knew how Derek’s skin felt under his fingers. He knew what it was like to be wrapped up in those strong arms, safe and secure.

Stiles knew that the feelings that he had for Derek were stronger than they probably should be after only three meetings in private, but he could not help it. He knew that he was falling for Derek, and he was falling hard. He needed Derek to live, because his heart would break, and he would fall without him, in a completely different way than he would fall when he was with him.

He needed him to live. Which was why he did not feel as guilty has he probably should have done when Derek unarmed his opponent and had him on the floor, sword hovering over his opponent’s neck.

“I think he has put on a good show,” Coach was saying of the opponent, and Stiles once again marvelled at the influence of a man from lower breeding, as the balcony erupted into chatter of agreement.

Coach’s influence seemed to have its effect, as thumbs went up, and Derek’s opponent was allowed to live. The announcement was made, and Stiles watched Derek’s eyes fade from red to their usual colour.

Stiles had seen Derek kill an opponent before, sharing words with him before he had done it, but now he got to watch Derek hold out a hand to help his opponent to his feet, and they shook hands, before the opponent left, and Derek turned to the balcony.

His eyes fixed on the balcony, and although it may have looked like he was looking at Kate, Stiles knew, from what Derek had said to him a couple of days before, that his eyes had actually found Stiles. Stiles knew Derek’s enhanced eyesight would see any movement he made, and so Stiles nodded at him almost imperceptibly, and although he did not really feel like being light and jovial, he sent Derek a smile, in an attempt to cheer him up. He knew that Derek had seen it, because he saluted, bowed almost cockily, and turned to leave the sands.

“That’s my _Undefeated Alpha,_ ” Kate was saying to Ithan, “He salutes me at every fight, you know.”

“He truly is remarkable, my lady,” Ithan replied and Stiles suppressed a shudder, “As I have told you before, your collection of slaves and Gladiators is incredibly impressive.”

Stiles purposefully tuned them out, and refused to register if Ithan looked back at him or not. Stiles watched Derek leave the sands, and knew that all his friends from the _Lupus Ludus_ had been extremely lucky, once again, to have all made it from the sands alive. He knew one day he might have to face a different outcome, and once every month he would have to face this terror of watching them all fight – possibly to their deaths – but for now, for now, he could calm himself. He could thank the gods that they were all alive, and he could worry about the next tournament when it came, just like they all had to do.

He took a deep breath of relief, before approaching his Domina and Victoria Argent with a plate of drinks.

 

***

“I am so glad to see you all alive,” Stiles greeted the Weres airily – as light-hearted as he could – when he joined them the next day at lunch after serving out the Gladiators’ food. “Even you, Peter.”

The Weres all grinned up at him, easy smiles, that all held that little hint of relief at getting through yet another tournament. They could probably see the relief in his own eyes, his casual admission the absolute opposite of the terror he had been feeling the day before.

Peter smirked, “Careful, you’ll make me blush, Stiles.”

Stiles winked at him, and slid onto the bench next to Scott, grasping his hand under the table as soon as he was seated beside him. Scott’s hold on his hand was equally tight, before they let go so that they could start eating.

Stiles made a quick scan of all the occupants at the table, to make sure that anybody that he had seen injured were already healed, or well into the healing process, before he shifted his leg so that it was pressed to Derek’s, who was sitting opposite him. Derek offered him a smile across the table, a look in his eyes that Stiles could not interpret.

“Did you enjoy the show yesterday, then, Stiles?” Peter poked.

“Not in the slightest,” Stiles offered. “However, I do have some questions.”

Peter’s smirked widened, “Ask away.”

“Not for you,” Stiles put in, raising an eyebrow at him. “It’s about your Gladiator names, and I know why you have yours.”

“ _Defeater of Death,_ you mean?” Peter asked, idly twirling his fork between his fingers, “That is because I am near immortal.”

Peter was showing off, of course, but he did not know that Stiles knew just how many times Peter had defeated death. Peter did not know that Derek had told Stiles about the fire, and knew that Peter had nearly burnt to death saving Derek’s little sister from the fire that had killed most of his family. It made Stiles’ heart ache with a heavy sadness, but he kept it buried, to keep Peter in the dark, and to remain jovial in the face of the others.

“Yes, as I said, I know. You do love your dramatics, don’t you?”

“A dramatic reputation is all a man needs.”

Stiles waved him off, “Yeah, yeah.”

“You want to know how we got our Gladiator names?” Jackson clarified.

“Yes, but I know yours, too,” Stiles said, “Scott told me all about you when he first came here. He is a big fan of the _Kanima_ , aren’t you, Scotty?” Stiles turned to Scott with an innocent grin as Scott’s cheeks flared and he sent Stiles a half-hearted glare.

“Well, well, Scott,” Jackson gave Scott a shit-eating grin, “I think I like you a whole lot better, now.”

Scott grumbled something under his breath.

Stiles nudged Scott with his elbow in a silent apology, before he looked to Erica. “So, _Catwoman,_ care to explain?”

Erica grinned, clearly pleased, “It’s all the teeth and the claws,” She explained simply, before gnashing her teeth at him playfully.

“I should have guessed that, shouldn’t I?”

“Well yes, darling, I am surprised you had not already noticed my cat-like grace.”

“You already know that I think you are one of the most beautiful, terrifying warriors I have ever laid my eyes on, Erica, darling. It doesn’t need saying out loud.”

As Erica beamed, amused and flattered in equal measure at the compliment, which Stiles had most certainly truthfully meant, his eyes did drift to Derek, because Erica was not the only beautiful warrior that Stiles had ever seen. Derek was watching him closely and curiously, his gaze looked almost heated, and Stiles swallowed, the weight of the gaze forcing him to look away again.

“Though Boyd’s is one of the best stories, isn’t it, babe?” Erica was saying, and Stiles turned to Boyd with some interest.

Boyd shifted under the attention of the occupants of the table, not used to all eyes directed at him. After encouragement from Erica, however, he shrugged, as though it was all no big deal.

“My first fight in the arena was in a _Snow Moon_ tournament, so one of the first of the year. It had been the driest winter on record, and there had been not a single flake of snow,” Boyd’s tone turned thoughtful, as he seemed to become lost in memory, “Which was unusual,” He continued after a moment, “I wasn’t expected to win my fight, but I did, and the moment it ended, the first flakes of snow started to fall. People started calling me the _Bringer of Snow,_ but then the snow kept coming, and the next day the entire arena had completely iced over. After that people just started calling me the _Ice Wolf._ The spectators thought I had brought it - that the gods had blessed me by giving a sign of their support for my first fight. It gave me a mystical edge of some higher-power, which apparently turned out to be popular.”

It was probably the most Stiles had ever heard Boyd say in one go, but it certainly was an impressive story, and Stiles, having seen Boyd fight the day before, could understand why he was a popular gladiator. It was clear that Boyd did not believe in any such higher-powers, or their supposed blessing, but it could not be denied that Boyd was not a champion Beta fighter in his own right.

“Boyd gained his Gladiator name on his first fight,” Erica said, sounding incredibly proud, “That isn’t a feat earned by many Gladiators.”

“It was all a coincidence, of course,” Boyd said, self-deprecatingly, “Just a coincidence and a turn in the weather timed well.”

Erica rolled her eyes, “I do not believe that,” She said, adamantly. It could have been that Erica had believed in the sign of blessing, but it was more likely that she was confident in the powers of the man she clearly loved.

Stiles smiled at them, before his gaze shifted to Isaac.

“Oh, right,” Isaac said, rubbing the back of his neck, “You will want to know about where _Gravedigger_ came from, I suppose.”

“You did promise me you would tell me, after last time,” Scott offered with a supportive smile.

Isaac smiled back, immediately calmed by Scott’s input. Stiles knew that Scott and Isaac had made close friends, and whilst he felt like he should have felt threatened by it, he wasn’t. He knew that Isaac was a good friend to Scott, and Stiles was making close friends of his own. His foot almost unconsciously knocked against Derek’s at the thought.

“I did,” Isaac said. “I got the name because I used to fight in the pits – in illegal fighting pits, you know?” He clarified for Stiles, “I hadn’t been taught control when I was turned and I was instinctively quite angry when I was in my Were-form. I started getting a reputation for killing my opponents,” His voice turned a little quieter, “It was accidental, really. I would just get these red hazes and fight for survival, and the next thing I knew, it was over.” An awkward silence descended on the table, until Isaac piped up again, clearly wanting to re-lighten the mood, “The name followed me from the pits to the arena, but I have learnt to control myself much better now.”

Peter was watching Isaac with a look of some respect, and Stiles realised that Peter had not been fully aware of why Isaac had earned himself the nickname.

“Consider me impressed, boy,” Peter said, “You maybe aren’t the puppy-dog I had you assumed to be.”

 “Bullshit,” Stiles countered, “He is still a puppy. Look at him. He is adorable.”

“I agree,” Scott added.

Isaac’s cheeks turned pink and he ducked his head, smiling a little to himself.

“You are Peter’s favourite, now, Isaac,” Jackson warned with a grin, “I hope you are prepared for that.”

“Nobody can be prepared for that,” Derek said, speaking for the first time since Stiles had sat down, and Isaac laughed as Peter started some affronted rant about not being appreciated.

Stiles sat back and watched Derek and Peter bicker, and it was obvious how comfortable Derek and Peter were as nephew and uncle, as little harmless digs flew back and forth, nothing revealing too much about either of them. It was causing everyone else a great deal of amusement, seeing a playful side to Derek and Peter that they had not witnessed before. With everyone smiling and Scott at his side, Stiles felt cheered that for now, at least, the danger had passed them by for another month.

***

After a successful tournament, the Gladiators of the _Lupus Ludus_ were sometimes given a free evening, with a later lockdown, and so could relax and socialise in the dining hall or spend some time in the bath house or in their own rooms. That particular evening was one of those times, and they had even been rewarded extra snack foods –meats and fruits, nothing sweet – and so most Gladiators had gathered in the dining hall.

Scott was sitting with the usual group; Isaac, Erica, Boyd, Jackson and Derek. Peter was not there; he had decided to visit the bath house and then disappeared into his room, which Derek stated was nothing unusual, when asked about his uncle’s whereabouts. It was quieter in the group without Stiles and Danny and Peter there, and the group were sitting in companionable silence.

They had toasted their fallen ‘brother’ from the tournament that day - a Beta Gladiator called Jim - that Scott had spoken to on only a handful of occasions. Jim had been a good fighter, but had kept very much to himself. Scott had never even been allowed to practice against Jim in training, because Jim was considered to be of a higher fighting class than Scott. The fact that such a capable Beta fighter, who had apparently been at the _Lupus Ludus_ for about a year, had just had a bad day, a simple mistake made in his fight, and had died because of it, did not give Scott confidence for his future.

“That is why we never really made friends, before,” Erica had said, more sombre than Scott had ever heard her, “Because not many of us really last here for that long.”

Scott had had a poor fight that day, he knew it, and the crowds had known it too. He was not going to be making a name for himself anytime soon – Gladiator names like the others all possessed – and that meant that the crowds did not think him memorable, and that meant they probably thought he wasn’t going to be around long enough to deserve one. But that fight today had been so difficult. His opponent had mocked him and insulted him and tried to rile him up, to get him to properly attack, but Scott had not wanted to kill him. He had been so afraid to kill him. And in the end he hadn’t had to, because the other Were had leapt at him and then as Scott had tried to dodge and roll, the Were’s head had met the floor with a crack that had knocked him unconscious. Scott had managed not to kill him, but Scott was not sure how long he was going to be able to go on without getting blood on his hands, and the thought frightened him almost as much as losing his own life…

“My father used to keep me chained up in the cellar like a dog.”

Scott broke out of the frantic fearful thoughts circulating his head, and stared across the table at Isaac, who was the one who had spoken, his voice dulled and monotone. Isaac had spoken whilst the group had still been quiet, all reflecting on the tournament and their own fights and close calls, so everyone had heard him, and were all staring at him with surprise. Derek’s forehead was creased as he frowned, Jackson was blinking like he didn’t think he had quite heard, and Scott was pretty sure his own mouth was slightly ajar.

“Isaac?” Erica asked softly.

“I wanted to explain,” Isaac said, not meeting anyone’s eyes as he fiddled with the tankard of drink sitting in front of him on the long wooden table. “Why I was such an angry Were, how I earned that name in the pits.”

“Isaac,” Derek spoke up, tone level and surprisingly calming, “You don’t have to explain anything to us.”

“No,” Isaac agreed, “But I think I should.” And he wasted no time in doing so, the words spilling out of him like a confession he had wanted to make – to tell someone – for a long time. “My mother died when I was small, and there was just me and my father and my older brother Camden. We were free, but were living in poverty, my father worked in organising illegal fights, but money would come and go fast. When Camden was old enough, father trained him to fight in human boxing and hand-to-hand combats and put him in the ring so that he could win large on bets, and Camden could earn winnings. When I was old enough, father tried to do the same to me, but I wasn’t a fighter like Camden was. But father said that I had to earn a living. So, he paid a Were in the pits to bite me, change me, so he could put me in Were fights instead. I didn’t know he was planning it, he just put me in a room with the Were and let it happen. Afterward he treated me as nothing more than an animal. He chained me up, locked me up in this tiny little cupboard. He made me near feral and so, so angry…” Isaac choked off, bitter tears brimming his eyes but not quite falling, “So when he put me in the pits, all that anger got unleashed on my opponents, because even though I could have killed him so many times, I found that I couldn’t. I still see him in my opponent’s faces, sometimes,” Isaac glanced at Scott, “It helps me kill them.”

“How did you end up here?” Jackson asked, sounding a little stunned, which was rare for Jackson.

“The illegal pit I was fighting in one night got busted. Father and Camden got arrested for illegally owning and fighting Weres, and I was captured. I still do not know what became of them, and I don’t really care. I came up in auction and the Domina had heard of me from the pits, and ended up bidding far higher than anyone else did for me. And here I am.”

Isaac looked around at them all warily, as though he expected judgement or pity or disgust. He did not receive it. Scott reached out and wrapped his fingers carefully around Isaac’s wrist in support, and Isaac sent him a small, grateful smile.

There was silence again for a moment, before Erica said, “Well, seeing as Isaac shared, I may as well,” And before anyone could stop her, she barrelled on, “I also lived free, but I was a sickly child and as I grew older I got worse and worse. I was really ill. Every medicine my parents had managed to afford had come to nothing. In the end it came down to two choices; one, that I die, or two, that I was turned by a Supernatural that had powers of healing, and then we try to keep it secret. My parents let me choose. I chose to live. They managed to find a druid – an emissary – who told them they could put them in touch with a Were. I was turned, and I remember feeling more alive than I had in years. We kept it secret for three months, three full moons, but on the fourth the neighbours must have heard something or suspected something – I don’t know – but our house was raided. My parents were acquitted, but I was taken off to auction. Some of the money I make in my fights I sent to my parents, to try and pay them back for all the money they spent on medicine for me.” Erica came to an abrupt halt, colour in her cheeks. She glared at them all as though daring them to pity her, but again nobody did.

Isaac looked grateful that she had not let him reveal his story alone, and Scott could see from the movement of Boyd’s arm, that he had taken Erica’s hand under the table.

Scott looked around at Derek, Jackson and Boyd, wondering if any of them were going to share their stories. Jackson still looked shocked, whilst Derek’s face was suddenly closed off, his eyes hardened, but he did not get up from the table.

“Well, I guess you all know my story,” Scott said, also wanting to help Isaac not feel so alone, “I was born a slave to Lord Christopher’s family. A few months ago me and Stiles had been sent to collect some horse shoes from the blacksmiths on the full moon, and Stiles left me with the horses to sort out payment – I was always better with horses than him – and then something collided with me in the dark. It was over before I knew what had happened, but I was bitten. Lady Victoria did not want a Were in her house, so I had to leave my mother and…” He stopped himself before he could say ‘Allison’, “And I was sent here, and Stiles came with me, and here I am.”

Scott doubted that Derek, Jackson and Boyd were going to share their own stories, not that they had any obligation to do so. Scott took a distracted sip of his drink, enjoying the burn of alcohol in his stomach. He had not often drunk alcohol, Lady Victoria had not liked the slaves drinking, she believed it made them too rowdy. Scott almost choked on it a moment later, when Boyd, of all people, broke the silence.

“My story is similar to Scott’s,” Boyd offered.

Scott looked up at him in surprise, to find Boyd watching him back steadily.

“My family were slaves to another family that lived in the country,” He said, clearly wanting to keep his explanation short, “It was winter, and there was ice covering the lake at the back of the house. Me and my sister were out playing and we were attacked by a rogue Were. My sister didn’t make it. I did.”

He finished it there, letting the others fill in the blanks. It would have been the same as Scott’s; the masters not wanting a Were in the household, and presumably sending Boyd off to auction. Whether or not he had been at another Ludus before coming to the _Lupus Ludus_ , he did not specify.

Jackson, however, was a different story. After looking cornered – feeling pressured to give his own input – Jackson snapped, “Fine, fine, I’ll tell you mine.”

“No-one is making you…” Erica started hotly, but Jackson waved her off.

“I was fairly high-born, my parents were politicians. When I was twelve a political opponent of my parents set up a targeted attack against them. I think was meant to kill all of us. It killed my parents at least, I survived with bites and scratches. I was taken in by a family friend that owned a Ludus in the south. I was a Ludus assistant until I was old enough to fight, and by that point I had made friends with Danny, who was a farmhand on the family farm. I had learnt a lot in the years watching other Gladiators train, and I ended up being pretty good. In a year I was making a lot of money for the family, but not enough. The farm was failing, the Ludus wasn’t very high status. But the Argents had heard of me. They offered a lot of money for me. I knew the family needed the money, and if I was going to be a Gladiator, I reckoned I needed a move to a bigger Ludus, to really improve and test myself. I told them to take the money and send me off. Danny ended up being a part of the deal, too, though I argued against it. He said he was bored of the farm-life. I think he just didn’t want me to be alone.”

Scott was surprised. He had noticed that Jackson and Danny had a strong friendship, because watching them reminded him of how he and Stiles interacted each other; able to have a conversation just by looking at each other. But he had not known that Danny had done as Stiles had done, and followed Jackson from one house to another. Scott still knew that he was never going to be able to repay Stiles for the sacrifices he had made for Scott, and Scott found himself liking Danny – who was already so charming and amiable – even more.

The group had fallen quiet again, and although nobody probably was meaning to, they were all glancing curiously at Derek, wondering whether the silent Alpha would decide to say anything.

Derek had been silent throughout the whole exchange of stories, and Scott could see indecision warring in Derek’s eyes, even as his face remained otherwise fixed and awkward. Scott guessed that as a born Were, Derek had probably found so many stories of rogue Weres and Weres being used as weapons to turn people in revenge, terribly upsetting. 

Derek visibly swallowed, eyes flicking quickly from face to face, calculating.

It was not expected of him, but it looked like Derek wanted to say something, he was just figuring out how much he wanted to reveal, and how best to reveal it. He seemed even more conflicted, and Scott wondered if it was because whatever Derek told them, would also reveal the past of the absent Peter as well.

“Peter and I are born Weres,” Derek said eventually, looking surprised to even be speaking, “My family had lived for generations as free Weres in hiding. There was a fire at the house. Peter and I survived it but were taken to hospital. We healed so quickly that they figured it out. We were captured and sent to auction, and were bought by the Argents.”

Derek’s story was even shorter than Boyd’s had been, and Scott knew that there must have been a lot that Derek had not chosen to reveal, but it was not hard to fill in the blanks; a house fire that, presumably, had killed many of Derek’s family, if Peter and Derek were the only two that had ended up here, which made Scott wonder whether any of Derek’s other family were alive, but if they were, where were they now?

The conversation thankfully turned to lighter things after that, but Scott knew that just by sharing their stories as they had, the six Weres had just strengthened the bond between them, the friendship that Erica had told him not many Gladiators bothered with because of their generally short lifespans, had just reached new levels of trust and support. And although each and every day that Scott became closer friends with these Weres, which meant that one day he could be left devastated by their deaths, he did not regret getting to know them. They were good company, good friends. And Scott could see them one day becoming as close to him as Stiles and his mother and Allison. He could see them becoming his family.

He could see them as a pack.

Even if he would never be a free Were, he reckoned he was as close as he would ever get to knowing what it was like to experience a pack dynamic.

Scott did not know whether Derek was having the same thoughts, but when the group finally stood from the table to make their way to their cells before lockdown, Derek pulled him aside.

“I do not know what it is about you and Stiles,” Derek began conversationally, not looking Scott in the eye, “That encourages the people around you to open up and trust.”

Scott waited for Derek to finish his point, but he did not say anything else. Scott did not know how to answer him, so just shrugged and said honestly, “I am not too sure myself.”

Derek suddenly fixed him with a level stare, before he nodded with a thoughtful hum. “Whatever it is,” Derek said finally, “I am glad of it.”

It was not what Scott had expected Derek to say, and was taken aback, “Stiles will be very pleased to hear that,” Scott said, for lack of anything else to say.

Scott swore he saw Derek’s lips quirk into a smile, before it dropped from his face again just as quickly as it had appeared, “I am sure he will,” Derek said, sounding, dare Scott say it – _fond?_

“Derek,” Scott started, “You and Stiles…”

Derek frowned at him, but Scott never got to finish what he was going to say, because all of a sudden there was shouting from the direction of the sandy training ground. Derek’s head jerked in the direction of the shouting, and before Scott could ask what in the hells it was all about, Derek had taken off running across the sands, Scott following immediately at his heels.

***

“How come we don’t get to have alcoholic beverages?” Stiles complained, an hour earlier, trailing behind Lydia as they walked the cobbled streets.

“Because,” Lydia shot back at him over her shoulder, “The Gladiators have just finished a successful tournament, and house slaves are not supposed to drink.”

“I don’t care about ‘supposed’,” Stiles told her.

“Oh really?” Lydia asked, tone sarcastic, “You know, I wasn’t aware of that.”

“Shut up,” Stiles muttered half-heartedly.

“I would also imagine you are a completely foolish drunk,” Lydia told him, “And that would be embarrassing for everybody.”

“Rude,” Stiles shot back.

“You should be celebrating, by the way,” Lydia told him, stopping and turning to face him so that Stiles had to slow to a halt as well, “It isn’t often that we are sent outside of the house for supplies. This is a privilege. Normally she sends Matt or Danny, so you should be pleased to know that the Domina has clearly gained some trust in you.”

“It doesn’t feel like a privilege. We have only been sent out because our dear Domina is out of those fancy plum things, and she sent us because everyone else was getting a fairly quiet night, and she wanted to ruin ours.”

Lydia threw up her hands in a ‘I give up’ manner and huffed, turning on her heel. “There is no pleasing you, Stiles Stilinski.”

“But you surely agree?” Stiles prodded, trotting after her, “And is the place where she gets those plum things from even open at this time in the evening?”

“They will open their doors to serve the slaves of Kate Argent,” Lydia told him, “She is their best customer, and this isn’t the first time we have had to buy more in the evening.”

“Fine, ok, I accept that,” Stiles frowned, “But do you really _really_ believe that she trusts _me_ enough to send me out for her?”

“She trusts me, and she wants you to learn,” Lydia said, but suddenly she sounded a little less sure. “What is up with you tonight? Why are you disliking this so much?”

Stiles sighed, “I’m sorry. I am. I guess I am just nervous. I don’t trust her. And I think it might also be a little bit because the last time I was out in town on an errand Scott was bitten by the rogue Were, so, yes I am disliking this a little bit.”

“Ah,” Lydia said, turning to smile at him and reaching out for his hand, “You are alright, Stiles. I have made this trip many times. We will be there and back in no time, I promise.”

Stiles was about to tell her not to make promises that she might not be able to keep, but he held his tongue.

“It’s slightly tempting to make a run for it, isn’t it?” Stiles asked conversationally.

Lydia glared at him and ‘hushed’ at him violently. “Honestly, Stiles!” she hissed, “Keep your voice down.”

Stiles apologised, and Lydia’s face softened.

“I thought about it once,” Lydia told him quietly, “Before I met Jackson, but then I looked at it realistically. How far do you really think either of us would get with these collars? And the Domina would be furious that slaves had disobeyed her. She would not rest until we were hunted down, and she would have us punished or killed to make an example. I didn’t fancy those chances. Do you?”

Stiles shook his head, “I tried running from Chris and Victoria’s, and that punishment was bad enough. I don’t even want to imagine what Kate’s would be.” Just the thought made him shudder. And it would not just be his neck on the line, there would be Scott’s too.

Lydia hummed comfortingly and squeezed his hand, “We are almost there. The sooner we get back, the sooner we can go to bed.”

“You know, if you weren’t with Jackson and I weren’t with Derek I would think you were flirting with me.”

Lydia rolled her eyes, “Don’t push your luck, Stiles,” She said, but she was smiling at him.

They soon arrived at a little shop at the end of a long cobbled street, smaller alleys leading off in both directions at intervals, the streets very uniform and set out in neat blocks. The shop was closed, all dark inside, with only one light flickering in the upstairs; presumably the owners enjoying their evening.

“This is it,” Lydia said, “I will have to go and knock around the back. Wait here.”

“Ok,” Stiles said, and he watched her go, shuffling his feet awkwardly. He was tempted to run after her, just to make sure she was alright, and so he wouldn’t be standing on his own, but he had his manly reputation to uphold, so he stayed put, not wanting to look like a scared little boy, when Lydia had not even batted an eyelid.

But as he stood there and waited, and waited, and waited, he became more and more concerned that something wasn’t right. He had the instinctual feeling that something was very very wrong. Lydia had been too long, and he had not even heard voices, which presumably would have happened when the shop keepers came to answer the door.

“Calm down, Stiles,” Stiles told himself under his breath, even as fear spiked through his chest, “It’s fine. It’s not happened again. Just go and check.”

So, Stiles forced his feet to move from where they had seemingly glued themselves to the floor, and he crept into the side street that Lydia had gone down to get to the back of the shop.

He saw a shape at the end of the alley, an indistinguishable shape in the shadows. But it was not standing, it looked hunched, or crouched, and Stiles froze in his tracks.

“Lydia?” He breathed, not loud enough for anybody to hear, but apparently the shape in the alley did.

It abruptly stood and moved back into the darkness. Stiles swallowed, fear and panic singing in his veins and every instinct he possessed screaming at him to turn around and run.

But he could not leave Lydia, wherever the hells she was. Stiles took a tiny, terrified step forwards.

“Lydia?” He asked again, a little louder.

Nothing moved, the shadows stayed still, the shape nowhere to be seen.

As Stiles edged closer and closer to where the shape had been crouched, he began to make out another form in the dark.

When he finally found out what it was he was seeing he froze once again, but in horror, rather than fear.

Lydia was lying on the cobbled floor, unconscious, blood seeping through the white material of her dress, just over her stomach.

“Oh gods,” Stiles choked, barely believing what he was seeing, stumbling towards her and landing hard on his knees at her side. “Oh god, Lydia? Lydia!”

His hands quaked as they hovered over her hair and face. He could feel breath on his hands. She was still alive. He let out a shuddering sob of relief. He then focused on the blood seeping through her dress. The dress was torn, and Stiles only had to move it aside and squint at it through the dark to figure out what it was. They were unmistakably claw marks. Big gashes gouged into her skin, and at the speed she was losing blood, it did not look good.

“Oh gods, no,” Stiles whined under his breath, tears springing to his eyes. “We have to get you back, we have to get you help, we have to get you to Deaton, he’ll know what to do. I’ll get help, I will.”

Stiles opened his mouth to shout, when a voice said, “Don’t shout, Stiles, or I will have to kill you, and that would be a dreadful shame. I really do like you.”

Stiles’ mouth shut so fast and hard that his teeth clacked together painfully. His head shot up and he stared at where he thought the voice had come from, smooth and silky and out of the shadows.

And then he saw movement, and one of the shadows began to take shape. And then a figure emerged from the darkness into the alley in front of him; over Lydia’s body, his claws still dripping blood.

“Peter?” Stiles gasped.

Peter was collarless, and still in Beta-form, but Stiles knew it was him.

Oh gods, it was Peter.

Peter was collarless. He was free. He was out of the Ludus.

Peter had just attacked Lydia.

And Peter just stood there, watching Stiles with his red eyes, a slightly-melancholy look on his face as he replied, “Hello, Stiles.”


	7. Chapter 7

Stiles knelt on the dirty cobbles of the alleyway, Lydia’s motionless body lying before him and Lydia’s blood on his hands, as he stared up at the man standing in front of them, a man he had thought to be an ally.

“I don’t understand,” Stiles stammered, his fingers still quivering over Lydia’s hair as if it would offer any comfort in the slightest.

“Of course you do, Stiles,” Peter said, matter-of-fact, “You are a smart boy. I would have assumed realisation would have dawned on you by now.”

“You are the rogue Were,” Stiles guessed immediately, even though it still made little sense to him.

Peter was the rogue Were? How? Surely it couldn’t be. Surely Peter could not be the rogue Were that had killed a boy less than a fortnight before, the rogue Were that had bitten and turned Scott…

“Ding-ding, he wins the round with flying colours. Well, there, see? You understand it completely.”

Oh gods. Peter _was_ the rogue Were. Peter had bitten Scott, changed Scott. Peter was Scott’s maker, his Alpha.

“No. No I don’t,” Stiles could hear the seething venom bleeding into his voice. He glared up at Peter, “I don’t know how you could betray your own kind by doing something like this.”

Peter’s lip curled, “By spending time standing here throwing accusations around, the only person betraying anybody is you. The longer you stay here pointing the finger at me, the less time you will have to save dear Lydia.”

“ _Dear Lydia_?!” Stiles screeched, leaping to his feet and rounding Lydia’s body in seconds, “You attacked her! You did this! You turned Scott! You…”

Stiles regretted his outburst the moment Peter's hand wrapped around his throat, and Peter pulled him to him. Fortunately, Peter had retracted his claws on that hand. Unfortunately, he did not do the same with his other hand, which he moved very close to Stiles’ neck. Stiles’ own hands flew to Peter’s wrist in an attempt to keep the claws at bay, but were easily overpowered, as Peter traced a still-bloodied claw delicately across the soft underside of Stiles’ jaw, and then down to where his hand was clenched around the gold of Stiles’ collar.

“I thought I told you to be quiet,” Peter hissed at him through his fangs, “And don’t think, just because I chose to attack her and not you, that I won’t turn you,” Peter’s head cocked to one side, “You have the makings of a good Were, Stiles; cunning, fierce, clever, loyal. You would be just what we need for the inevitable rebellion. More capable than Scott, I wouldn’t wonder. Shame it was him that I bit that night and not you, really.”

“Get off me,” Stiles choked angrily. Why was Peter even talking about a rebellion, when he was clearly not fighting with the Wolves to get it? When he wasn’t even wearing a collar? “Let me go!”

“Certainly, if you do as you are told. And if you do as you are told, Lydia will make it through the night. Understood?”

Stiles glared at him.

“I said,” Peter snarled, baring his teeth, “Do you understand?”

It was the kind of thing Kate said to Stiles on a weekly basis; demanding an answer from Stiles to ensure that he ‘understood’ the simple tasks ordered of him. Hearing those same words from Peter made Stiles seethe and for a moment he considered saying ‘no’, but he didn’t. It was not his pride that he needed to save most right at that moment. He needed to save Lydia.

“Yes,” Stiles agreed through gritted teeth.

“Good,” Peter released him, and moved immediately towards where Lydia lay.

“No, no, wait,” Stiles instinctively shot between Peter and Lydia to shield her from the claws that had wounded her in the first place, “What are you doing?”

“Move, Stiles,” Peter snapped.

“No.”

“I said,” Peter snarled, and before Stiles’ very eyes, he watched Peter transform from Beta-Shift into full Alpha-Shift. The wolf that stood before him was large with a coal-dark coat and its red eyes glowing. It snarled at him again with a noise that sounded disturbingly like ‘Move’.

Stiles stumbled back so quickly that he nearly fell backward over Lydia. The wolf – Peter – took a step forward, sinking lower to the floor as it growled at him again. Stiles moved backwards, holding his hands up defensively.

“Alright, alright, I get your point,” Stiles snapped. “Do you promise you aren’t going to hurt her?” he swallowed, “More than you already have?”

Peter watched him steadily through red eyes before, after a moment, inclining his head in a slight nod.

“Ok,” Stiles breathed, not wanting to put his trust in Peter, but was being given little other choice.

He moved out of the way, and the moment that he was far enough away from Lydia, Peter transformed into his human-form.

“Finally,” Peter rolled his eyes, as though it was Stiles that was the problem; as though it was not Peter’s hands that had wounded Lydia in the first place and were still coated in the evidence.

“Why her?” Stiles asked, his voice cracking as he watched with bewilderment as Peter crouched down beside Lydia. “Why did you choose Lydia and not me?”

Peter levelled him with a _‘You are doing this now? Really?’_ stare and hooked his arms under Lydia’s limp body. “One,” He said, “Because I know about you and Derek, and I would rather betray Jackson than Derek,” He began to stand, lifting Lydia into his arms, “And two, because whilst you would probably be able to carry her home, she would likely start struggling to carry you after two blocks. This way it is more realistic.”

The initial shock of finding out that Peter knew about him and Derek and what that knowledge in Peter’s power and possession could mean, was quickly replaced by the sudden realisation of what Peter was doing. Peter was going to carry Lydia back toward the Ludus, but make it look like it was Stiles that had carried her back.

“You wounded her, but now you are going to help her?”

“Yes,”

Stiles blinked. “I don’t understand,” He said, for the second time in five minutes.

“You don’t have to understand,” Peter said, walking past Stiles and out of the alleyway, Lydia hanging limply in his arms. “You just have to follow me and keep quiet. I will get her back quicker than you would. Just keep up.”

Stiles did as he was told, and followed Peter in silence. And true to his word, Peter carried Lydia back to the Ludus far faster than Stiles would ever have been able to alone. Peter clearly intended Lydia to survive the night. The wound he had given her was not immediately fatal, and was not a bite, so might not even change her. He was then carrying her back to the Ludus at a speed Stiles would never have been able to manage. He was carrying her back, and was going to presumably, from what he had said, make it appear that Stiles had carried her home, which was more realistic than if Peter had had to carry an injured Stiles back to the Ludus, and then make it look like Lydia had been able to carry Stiles’ taller, heavier form back to the Ludus in such short a time. Peter did not want it to appear that he had aided in Lydia’s survival after her attack, but he had indeed attacked her in her first place. He had attacked Lydia and now he was helping to save her life. What did it mean? What was Peter’s motivation? How was he out of the Ludus without a collar?

Stiles had so many questions running through his head, but he had no time in which to ask them, because Peter suddenly stopped, a block away from the _Lupus Ludus._

“You have to take her from here,” Peter ordered, depositing an incredibly pale Lydia into Stiles’ arms. “Take her straight to the gate that leads to the sands. If Deaton gets to her first she will have a chance. If you take her to the house entrance, Kate might purposefully not get her help in time.”

“Where are you going?”

“I have to make myself scarce for a little while. I will be back.”

“They will ask who attacked her.”

Peter’s gaze turned hard and icy. “The rogue Were attacked her,” His tone brooked no argument. “Don’t you tell them, or it won’t just be me that they punish. It will be Derek, too.”

Stiles stood in stubborn silence. He would not tell Kate and her guards who attacked Lydia. He knew that there was more to this; that Kate had to be behind Peter’s actions somehow. He had to give Peter a chance to explain why he had done all that he had done. But Stiles could not lie to Derek if he asked, and the knowledge that Peter was Scott’s maker could not be kept from Scott; he had a right to know. Derek and Scott had a right to know.

“You are going to tell Derek,” Peter said, as though reading Stiles’ mind, watching him coldly. “If you do, I will never forgive you.”

“I don’t require your forgiveness,” Stiles snapped. “I have to go. I have to go and get Lydia the help she needs.”

He waited for Peter to argue against him telling Derek, to stop him from leaving until he swore to secrecy, but Peter did not say anything. Peter’s eyes turned red, and he sank back into the shadows, his eyes never leaving Stiles’ face.

Stiles held Lydia’s body closer to his own. Her skin felt cold where it touched his. Her forehead was damp with a cold sweat where it rested against his neck.

Stiles turned and ran in the direction of the Ludus. He ran faster than he had ever run before, and was in front of the large looming gate that led onto the Ludus sands within minutes. The gate was large and black metal and locked from the inside, and was guarded by armed men above it on the walls and on the other side of it on the sands. The guards on the wall above must have been distracted and not seen Stiles approach in the dark, because no-one challenged his approach.

“Help!” Stiles shouted immediately, “Open the gate! Help!”

“Who goes there?” One of the guards snapped to attention and shouted down at him from the high wall.

Stiles craned his neck to look up, “It’s Stiles and Lydia, house slaves of the Domina. She sent us out on an errand and we have been attacked by a rogue Were. Lydia is injured,” He glanced down at her and swallowed; there was blood seeping into the white of his shirt. “She is really badly injured. Let us in! I have to get her to Deaton!”

“I need to come down there and identify you before we let you in,” The guard instructed.

“No you don’t! You can see it’s us! You just have to let us in!” Stiles kicked out violently at the gate, “Let us in! Open the gate!”

“Hey! Move away from the gate!” The guard shouted back down at him.

“No!” Stiles screeched back, “You have to help her! Open the gate! Open it now! The Domina will be angry if you let one of her house slaves die! Let…” Stiles kicked the gate again, “Us…” and again, “In!”

“I am warning you, if you don’t…” The guard started, a moment before a voice shouted from the other side of the gate.

“Let them in! Open the gate!” Stiles immediately recognised the voice to be Derek’s.

“Hale,” Stiles heard an unfamiliar voice snap from the other side of the gate, “Stand down and get back to the Gladiator cells.”

“No,” Stiles heard Derek reply, “I recognise the voice to be one of the Domina’s house slaves. If one of them has been injured they must be taken to Deaton immediately. The Domina will be furious to know one of her slaves has been injured. Don’t let it get any worse.”

“Open the gate,” One of the guards eventually said from behind the gate. “We are opening the gate.”

The clanking of keys, the sliding of locks and the creaking-opening of the gate onto the training sands of the Ludus seemed to take a lifetime.

Stiles shifted impatiently, urging the gate to go faster under his breath.

And then it was open, and four guards, Derek, Scott and a small gathering of other _Wolves_ were standing on the sands through the opening, staring at him.

***

Derek had pulled Scott aside after the heart-to-heart that he, Scott, Isaac, Erica, Boyd and Jackson had just shared.

“I do not know what it is about you and Stiles,” he had said, unable to look Scott in the eye as he had said it. It had taken him a lot of courage and self-control to be able to reveal to the others even a glimpse of the story of his past. And to Stiles, only weeks before, he had revealed everything there was to know. He honestly did not know what it was about Stiles and Scott that brought people together, that so easily gained their loyalty and trust. “That encourages the people around you to open up and trust.”

Scott had shrugged, and earnestly responded, “I am not too sure myself.”

Derek had watched him for a moment, weighing the questions and answers in his head, before nodding. He had hummed thoughtfully. “Whatever it is,” He had decided, “I am glad of it.”

And he was. Opening up to Stiles had been freeing. Talking about his family to someone other than Peter after so long had left him comforted, rather than renewing his grief. Telling the group that night the very basic details of his past had also been liberating. He had shared with that group more in the last month or so than he had shared with any Were (other than Peter) in the Ludus for the last seven years of being a slave. It had once again made him realise the importance of loyalty bonds that he had been so sorely missing since the death of his family. What he and the others had done that night was strengthen the bonds between them, knitting them tighter into the closest semblance of an inner-Ludus pack that Derek had ever seen or heard of before. And it had been the arrival of Scott and Stiles at the Ludus that had started it all.

Scott had looked surprised at Derek’s honest admission, but then he had smiled, “Stiles will be very pleased to hear that.”

Derek had fought a smile, as he found himself thinking of Stiles. It had not just been Derek that had shared his story with Stiles; Stiles had trusted Derek to know his in return. Even the thought of Stiles made Derek want to smile. It was a new feeling, and as much as Derek liked it, he also knew he had to be more discreet, if he was going to keep Stiles safe, and their relationship secret. So he had forced the smile down.

“I am sure he will,” Derek had replied.

Scott had been watching him closely, “Derek,” Scott had started slowly, assumedly plucking up the courage to say, “You and Stiles…”

Derek had frowned at him, knowing that he had likely given his feelings for Stiles away anyway and that it had been unlikely that he or Stiles would have been able to – or wanted to – keep Scott in the dark for very long, but Scott’s next words were interrupted.

There was shouting across the sands, and from the sounds of it, on the other side of the gate, from the world outside. The first words sounded a lot like ‘Help!’

Derek could not remember the last time something so out of the norm had happened at the Ludus, and instinctively he turned and ran across the sands towards the source of the voice. Scott followed at his heels.

He crossed the sands in a matter of moments, and stood before the large gate that - for the vast majority of the time - remained heavily locked and barred. Four guards were gathered by the lock, looking at each other, and as Derek and Scott skidded to a halt in front of them, Derek  caught the tail-end of a familiar voice shouting “…really badly injured. Let us in! I have to get her to Deaton!”

A guard on the wall above them called back “I need to come down there and identify you before we let you in.”

“No you don’t!” The voice responded, loud and desperate and angry, and Derek immediately knew that it was Stiles, though what Stiles was doing out of the house and Ludus at this hour, Derek had no idea. “You can see it’s us! You just have to let us in!” There was a loud bang from the other side of the gate, which made the group of guards next to it jump to attention, “Let us in! Open the gate!”

“Hey! Move away from the gate!” The guard on the wall yelled back at Stiles.

“No!” Stiles’ voice screeched, “You have to help her! Open the gate! Open it now! The Domina will be angry if you let one of her house slaves die! Let…” A bang came at the gate again, presumably as Stiles hit or kicked it, “Us…” another bang, “In!”

“I am warning you, if you don’t…” Derek could see the guard on the wall pulling an arrow from the quiver on his back.

Derek decided it was high time that he intervened. “Let them in!” Derek ordered, with more authority than he actually possessed within the household, “Open the gate!”

“Hale,” One of the four guards by the gate spun around and snapped at him, “Stand down and get back to the Gladiator cells.”

Derek watched the group of guards’ hands moving for their weapons. But Stiles needed help and whoever he was with needed help. One or both of the house slaves on the other side of the gate were injured, and Derek could not help but feel a surge of panic that Stiles could be hurt. He needed to get Stiles into the Ludus and he needed to get him help, no matter the consequences.

“No,” Derek replied, keeping his voice as level and reasonable as possible, “I recognise the voice to be one of the Domina’s house slaves. If one of them has been injured they must be taken to Deaton immediately. The Domina will be furious to know one of her slaves has been injured. Don’t let it get any worse.”

The group of guards in front of him looked at each other for a moment, before one of them nodded and said “Open the gate.” before shouting up to the guards on the wall, and to Stiles on the other side, “We are opening the gate.”

As the guards set about sliding back all the heavy iron locks on the gate and sorting through their keys for the various locks, Derek felt fingers close on his arm, and looked down to find that Scott had taken a hold of his wrist. Derek looked up at Scott in surprise, to find Scott staring fixedly at the gate. He would have shaken Scott’s grip free, if he didn’t know the exact worry that Scott was feeling for his friend on the other side of the gate.

Scott dropped Derek’s arm the moment the gate was pulled open, and they both stared in shock as Stiles was finally revealed to them.

Stiles was standing in the gateway, holding a limp form in his arms. Derek started when he realised that the motionless person Stiles was carrying was Lydia. Where Stiles’ skin was pale, Lydia’s was deathly white, and blood smeared the both of them in alarming quantities. Stiles had it smeared all up his front and to his face. He looked like he was in shock, fear lining his features.

Derek immediately moved forward, to go and offer his help, but found himself face-to-face with a number of sword-ends and arrow-tips for his trouble.

“Don’t think about it, Hale,” The guard on the wall shouted down at him, his own bow straining with a loaded arrow, "I will shoot you. If any of you move,” He shouted at the small group of Weres behind Derek and Scott that had also been drawn to the commotion, “If any of you take one step closer to that gate I will shoot you full of Wolf’s Bane.”

Derek held his hands up in unthreatening surrender, having to wait for Stiles to come to them instead. As if on cue, Stiles suddenly burst into action, rushing through the gate towards them all.

The guards lowered their weapons in order to quickly close the gate behind Stiles, which meant that Derek remained unthreatened as he closed the last few steps to meet Stiles part-way.

“I have to get her to Deaton,” Stiles gabbled at them as soon as he reached them, “I have to get her to Deaton.”

Derek automatically reached out to take Lydia from Stiles, to help him and to ease the burden, but Stiles shook his head, holding onto Lydia even tighter. “I have to get her to Deaton,” Stiles stammered his mantra again, looking apologetic and frightened. “Derek, please. I have to get her to Deaton.”

“Alright, Stiles,” Derek withdrew his hands carefully, keeping his voice calming and supportive, “Ok, we will get you to Deaton.”

“I will go and tell him,” Scott offered, sprinting away towards Deaton’s medical rooms, kicking up clouds of sand behind him.

Stiles turned to follow, and Derek shadowed him, knowing that the guards and some of the other Weres were not far behind. There were shouts from the _Wolves_ that followed - questions about what had happened - but Stiles did not answer them. Derek was watching him carefully, making sure that he was handling carrying Lydia.

By the time the group reached the door of Deaton’s medical rooms, Scott was there with Deaton at his side.

“Bring her in,” Deaton ordered urgently, beckoning Stiles inside. “What has happened, Stiles?”

Derek heard Stiles answer “Rogue Were. It just scratched her, no bite that I could see. I think I scared it off when I approached.”

Derek was about to follow and pull Scott with him as the group of onlookers gathered around the doorway, but he hesitated when he spotted Jackson, Erica, Boyd and Isaac approaching the group curiously.

“What’s going on?” Erica said, “There was no lockdown for the night, and then we came back out and heard all this commotion,” She cocked her head, looking towards Deaton’s rooms, “Has there been a fight?” She asked excitedly.

“No,” Derek said shortly, taking a hold of Jackson and Erica and dragging them to one side, knowing that Scott, Boyd and Isaac would follow. “Jackson, I need you to keep composed right now, ok?”

Jackson, who had been eyeing the crowd with a grin, presumably expecting there to have been some sort of petty skirmish between two of the gladiators, looked at Derek in surprise. He must have seen something in Derek’s face, because the smile dropped from his face immediately, “What is it?”

“It’s Lydia,” Derek said quietly.

Jackson’s eyes widened in apprehensive fear, “What about her?”

“Her and Stiles were out on an errand. Lydia has been attacked by a rogue Were,” Derek explained in a rush, and when Jackson made a noise of pure devastation and lurched forwards, Derek held him back, “She hasn’t been bitten,” He told him urgently, quietly, moving each time Jackson made a move to pull free, “Just scratched. She is alive, she might not even turn. She might not even turn, Jackson. Right now she needs you to be strong. If you go in there making a show, the guards will realise that the pair of you are better acquainted than they thought. You will put her in even more danger. Now, I am going to get you in there, ok? Deaton will help, I know he will. You just have to keep composed. You have to do this, for her.”

Jackson’s eyes were brimmed with tears, and he was staring past Derek’s shoulder towards the crowd gathered around the doctor’s door.

“Jackson,” Derek demanded, voice firm, “Are you listening to me?”

“Yes,” Jackson said, wide eyes finding Derek’s face and he nodded, wiping fiercely at his eyes as his ‘warrior’ mask fell into place, “Yes,” He said, with more certainty.

“Good,” Derek nodded. He looked past Jackson to the others, “Erica, Boyd, Isaac, it would be best for you to go back to the cells. Scott…”

“I need to see if Stiles is ok,” Scott said immediately.

“Ok, you come with us,” Derek allowed.

Erica, Boyd and Isaac immediately did as they were told and moved towards the back of the gathered crowd of gladiators, before slipping away. Derek turned and led Jackson and Scott through the throng towards the door.

When they made it there, Deaton was saying something to the surrounding audience, “I need all of you to leave, now. So that I can focus on my patient,” Deaton glanced up and spotted Derek and Jackson hovering in the doorway. “ _Wolves_ barring Derek Hale, Jackson Whittemore, Scott McCall, go back to your cells.”

“Why them?” One of the guards snapped, “The Domina will not…”

“Derek is a born Were, and knows more about Were lore than most here. Jackson is of a highly-educated background, and will be of assistance regarding how best to treat these types of wounds. Scott is a victim of potentially the same rogue Were. I would like them to stay, if you would like one of the Domina’s favourite house slaves to be kept alive.”

“Fine,” The guard relented, turning to usher the other _Wolves_ away with the sharp-end of his weapon. All but one of the guards followed suit.

Derek moved into the room, with Jackson and Scott behind him. Lydia was lying unconscious on Deaton’s operation table, the red of her blood was stark in colour against the ghostly white of her clothes and her paled skin. Even her vibrant hair looked dimmed in comparison. Derek heard Jackson take a sharp inhale of breath.

Stiles was standing behind the table, staring at Lydia, his clothes and skin equally blood-stained. Derek regarded him with concern.

The remaining guard lingered in the doorway, “A guard should be in here with you.”

“Actually, you had best go and inform the Domina of what has occurred,” Deaton said dismissively, walking to his counter and pulling medical supplies from various drawers. “Though if you could send someone to guard the outside of the door to make sure we are not disturbed once you are done, I believe that having as few people as possible in the room will be best for her.”

“What about him?” The guard nodded at Stiles, who did not seem to acknowledge that he was being talked about.

“I need to check him over for any minor injuries,” Deaton said, pouring liquid onto a clean cloth from a pale blue bottle and taking hold of a sharp surgical knife. “Also, whilst you are up at the house, if you could send Kira or Matt down, I might need some assistance; someone with steady hands to assist me…”

“I can do it,” Stiles said immediately.

Derek watched Deaton look at Stiles in surprise.

“Stiles…”

“Melissa McCall taught me in medicine before I left the house of Lord Argent,” Stiles said shortly, “I can help you. It will save time in going to find someone else. I will be the best help you could have.”

Deaton nodded and looked back at the guard, “Then inform the Domina of what I have proposed. Stiles is going to stay on-hand to assist in nursing Lydia. Please hurry with your message.”

The guard looked baffled at Deaton’s sharp demands, brooking no argument, before he disappeared out of the door, closing it behind him.

The moment the guard was gone and it was just Derek, Deaton, Lydia, Stiles, Jackson and Scott in the room, Jackson rushed to Lydia’s side.

“Oh gods, Lydia,” He whispered, running his hand over her forehead and back through her matted hair, “Lydia, please. Please don’t leave me. You have to fight this. You have to stay with me. Please.”

Deaton ignored Jackson, clearly aware of the relationship between them, and wasted no time in looking to Stiles. “Are you sure you can do this, Stiles?”

Stiles nodded with determination, his gaze flicking towards Derek and Scott for the first time. “I can do this,” He insisted.

Deaton ushered Jackson aside as he began cutting at Lydia’s dress to reveal the wounds, and so that he could start cleaning them.

Jackson, no longer able to be beside Lydia, focused his attention elsewhere. Derek had no time to stop him from rounding the table and grabbing a hold of Stiles.

“What happened?!” Jackson demanded, “What the hells happened out there Stiles? How is it that she is lying there and you are still standing?!”

Derek moved at the same moment that Scott did.

“Enough,” Derek scolded, forcing himself between Jackson and Stiles, “Leave him, Jackson.”

Scott pulled Stiles back towards him, and out of Jackson’s reach, “Back off, Jackson.”

Jackson glared up at Derek, “You protect him, when he couldn’t even protect Lydia…”

“She was only gone for a few seconds,” Stiles’ voice cut Jackson’s rant short, “For just a few seconds.”

“What happened, Stiles?” Scott asked, more gently than Jackson had asked. “Why were you two there in the first place?”

“The Domina ran out of plums,” Stiles spat, and Derek turned to look down at him, still keeping a hand fastened around Jackson’s bicep. “She sent me and Lydia to go and get her some more. We got to the shop but it was closed up. Lydia told me to wait whilst she went to the back door. I did as I was told; you don’t question Lydia.”

Derek heard Jackson give a small huff of consent behind him, and Jackson took a step back, the fight leaving him.

“I didn’t see it happen,” Stiles continued quietly, “Just like with Scott, I didn’t see it happen. But Lydia didn’t scream like Scott,” Stiles leaned backward into Scott as he said it, and his friend tightened his hold on Stiles, “It was…it was too quiet down the alley, so I went after her. By the time I got there,” Derek saw Stiles visibly shudder, “I think I scared it off. I stopped it from going too far. I’m sorry Jackson. I got her back here as fast as I could.”

“Stiles,” Deaton said, interrupting them. “I have cleaned the wounds. I will require your assistance with the stitching. Do you know the basics of stitching wounds?”

“Yes,” Stiles said immediately, his lost, upset expression switching immediately to one of grim determination, “Yes, I know how to do it.”

“Good,” Deaton said, “Wash your hands and change into one of the medical garments hanging on the wall over there, and then come back here. You three, wait over there,” Deaton nodded to a bench near the far wall, “The Domina will be here soon.”

***

Stiles took a deep breath, and felt Scott squeeze his shoulders.

“Are you sure you are ok to do this, Stiles?” Scott’s voice asked him worriedly from behind him.

“I’m ok,” Stiles reassured him, sounding more positive than he felt.

The last thing Stiles wanted to be doing was stitching up one of his best friends, but he knew that his helping Deaton was giving Lydia her best chance of survival. He wanted to shout and scream and tell them it was all Peter’s fault that she was injured in the first place, which probably meant that it was Kate’s fault in actuality. But Stiles could not tell Jackson for fear of what he might do, and then was not the time to tell Derek.

Derek was watching him with cautious concern, still standing between Stiles and Jackson, firmly positioning himself in the role of protector, of leader. It suited him.

Derek’s gaze flicked over Stiles’ face, and Stiles gave him a small nod, letting him know that he was going to be alright to help Deaton.

Derek saw and must have understood the signal, because he then looked at Scott over Stiles’ shoulder.

“Scott, Jackson, go and sit. Stiles, come with me.”

“Ok,” Scott allowed, moving back and away, and Stiles watched Derek’s defensive posture relax significantly when Jackson also moved away and did as he was told to.

Stiles obediently followed Derek to the counter at the back of the room, which housed the water basin.

“Stiles, can we take this off?” Derek asked Stiles, motioning to Stiles’ blood-sodden shirt.

Stiles shuddered as he peeled the shirt off his shoulders, and felt a little like throwing up.

Once he was rid of the shirt, Derek took one of his hands and held his arm out to the side, and began to quickly and clinically wash the blood from Stiles’ hands and forearms and neck and face. There was nothing intimate about it, because it was not the time to be intimate. It had to be done quickly but thoroughly, for Lydia’s sake.

There was, however, a brief moment after which Stiles was cleaned up, and Derek had tugged one of Deaton’s clean medical shirts over Stiles’ head, that Derek put his fingers under Stiles’ chin and tilted his head up.

“Hey,” Derek asked quietly, “Are you still with me?”

Stiles had allowed himself to zone out in those minutes, the indecision about what he should reveal about that night and to who, and a desperately-fast attempt to recollect every piece of medical theory about stitching wounds that Melissa had ever told him, had been keeping his mind occupied as he had trusted Derek to take control of getting him ready. At Derek’s question, Stiles looked up into Derek’s eyes.

“Yes. I am,” Stiles promised, “I’m with you.”

Derek hummed doubtfully, and his hand moved down to Stiles’ shoulder.

Stiles felt the building dread of having to tell Derek about Peter, and how that it could potentially destroy Derek, learning such a thing about one of his only remaining family members. Because Derek _had_ to be innocent of knowing about what Peter was doing, Derek would never condone something like that. Derek was a good person, who did not deserve his life of slavery, and did not deserve to be betrayed by the people around him. Just the thought of having to break the news to him sent Stiles crashing into Derek.

“Hey,” Derek murmured, apparently not at all bothered by having Stiles in his arms in front of Deaton and Scott and Jackson, “Are you sure?”

Stiles nodded, pressing his face into Derek’s neck for a brief moment, before he took a breath, stilled his nerves, and pulled away. Telling Derek about Peter would have to wait. Stiles needed to help Lydia first.

“I’m sure,” Stiles said, pulling away and turning to Deaton, “Sorry Doctor, I’m ready. What do you want me to do?”

Deaton glanced up at him from where he was already well into his stitching of Lydia’s wounds. “The scratches are far shallower than I first feared, and there is no internal bleeding that I can see. I have already started to stitch the wounds, but I need to mix a concoction of herbs that will restore her strength; she has lost a lot of blood and I have a remedy that will help her through that. Stiles, have you stitched anything before?”

Stiles nodded, “Just one wound; Scott cut his arm open on some shears,” His gaze flicked to Scott, who smiled at him with grim encouragement. Stiles decided not to mention that he had thrown up immediately following stitching said wound. “But I have stitched hundreds of pieces of material before; my mother was a seamstress.”

“Perfect,” Deaton smiled at him with a lot more calm than Scott had, “Then you could finish these stitches for me whilst I make my remedy?”

Stiles nodded, moving to Deaton and taking over with hands far steadier than they should have been. Gods, he hated the sight of blood. But Lydia needed help, and Stiles was going to help her, because he had not been able to protect her from Peter.

The room descended into focused silence; Stiles absorbed in leaving neat and clean stitches – Lydia would kill him for doing a shoddy job – and Deaton busy mixing various ingredients into one of his medical beakers. Jackson, Scott and Derek sat together on the bench to one side, watching and confirming any facts on Were lore that Deaton threw at them.

Stiles kept glancing up at Lydia’s face, to make sure that she was still breathing. Her skin was still bloodless and blood-stained, her eyes closed, her auburn lashes fanning her cheeks.

They worked in that silence for nearly ten minutes.

And then Kate Argent burst in.

“What is going on?” She demanded immediately, “I have just had my guards come up to the house and tell me that you have one of my house slaves on the operating table and one of them working at it, Deaton! I did not believe them, because how absurd! But now I come down here to find out it is true! Why are these _Wolves_ not in their cells?”

“Did your guards not tell you, my lady?” Deaton answered calmly, not even looking up from the bottle of powder he was tapping with one finger into the beaker in his hand. “Lydia has been attacked by a rogue Were. Only scratched, thank goodness, but we both know a scratch deep enough might still turn her. The _Wolves_ are here because they are offering me advice on Were lore. I did explain this to your guards before they left to inform you of the situation.”

“You only need one Were to do that,” Kate snapped, clearly unhappy to have been answered back in such a manner.

Stiles reckoned Deaton was pushing his luck and glanced up from his work to find Kate’s furious gaze fixed on Deaton. But the moment she felt Stiles’ eyes on her, her attention shifted towards him. Stiles dropped his gaze immediately, focusing back on finishing Lydia’s stitches.

“Scott is a new Were, it is doubtful he has anything of value to add,” Kate said.

“I believe the rogue that attacked Lydia tonight to be the same that changed Scott,” Deaton replied shortly.

There was silence for a moment. “Regardless,” Kate retorted, “Even if it was the same rogue, Scott has no advice to offer that Derek cannot offer. I want Scott and Jackson to return to their cells immediately. Derek, as my champion, may stay to give advice, but the moment you believe you can handle the situation without aid from my servants, Deaton, you can send him on his way. I also want to speak to Stiles…”

“I am afraid that Stiles will not be able to speak to you until the morning, my lady,” Deaton inputted smoothly. “He is being of crucial aid here, as you can see before you. I then will need to check him over for any minor injuries or shock, and he will need some sleep after exerting himself so dedicatedly in his medical aid, here. Only then would I deem him medically fit to return to your service.”

Stiles was stunned at Deaton’s boldness, as grateful as he was for it. He realised that he had never seen Kate and the doctor directly have a conversation with each other before, and he had little idea how Kate was letting Deaton get away with speaking back to her as he was. If Stiles had done as much she probably would have beaten him so hard that she’d accidentally kill him.

“Look here, _vet…_ ” Kate started, tone piercingly icy.

“I am a doctor, Lady Katherine,” Deaton interrupted stonily, “And many other things besides, as you well know. But I am not a veterinarian. These men here are not animals, which means I am not a vet. The girl you see lying before you is your own human house slave, which would make me a doctor, would it not?”

The silence in the room was thick with furious tension, and that fury was coming entirely from the woman who owned that room, and everyone in it.

“Scott and Jackson get back to your cells, immediately,” Kate said with slow, venomous calm.

Stiles glanced over at them, worried that Jackson would try and protest being sent away, but Jackson had been in his secret relationship with Lydia for twice as long as Stiles had even been in Kate’s service; Jackson knew what he was doing. With a final, agonised glance at Lydia, and a brief, thankful nod to Stiles, he and Scott left the room without question.

“Deaton,” Kate said, “You may keep Stiles until the morning, if you so desperately need the assistance of an amateur and cannot do your job on your own. Derek, stay until you are no longer needed, then get back to your cell. I am going to bed.” Kate turned to the door.

“Lydia will live, my Lady,” Deaton’s quiet voice added, calling Kate out for her uncaring ignorance, “I thought you may want to know of her condition.”

The Domina froze in the doorway, and Stiles watched her fingers curl up into fists, but “Thank you, Deaton,” was all she said before she left, the guards following her and the door slamming behind her.

Stiles could not help but gape at Deaton the moment that Kate was gone.

“How did you do that?” he asked, flabbergasted.

Deaton just carried on with his work as though nothing had happened, “Just because this family managed to bind me and my service to them, it does not mean that she should test my patience.”

“What do you mean?” Stiles asked, confused.

“I mean,” Deaton said, “That it is best not to get on the wrong side of a druid.”

Stiles blinked, “You…you are a druid?”

Deaton sent him a smile that had been built on secrets, “I might be.”

Stiles looked over to where Derek was still sitting on the bench, but Derek did not look the least surprised by the information, which meant Derek already knew.

Derek met Stiles’ gaze and sent him a small smile.

“Best to keep that between ourselves, Stiles,” Derek added.

Stiles nodded dumbly.

“Stiles,” Deaton said, not the least phased in having revealed his true self to Stiles, as he walked to the table to check Lydia’s vitals. Seemingly satisfied that she was stable, he continued, “My remedy is almost ready. How are the stitches faring?”

Stiles looked down at the lines of stitches, “Just this one needs tying off.”

“I will do that and supply Lydia with the medicine.”

“Good,” Stiles said, moving aside and letting Deaton take over, “Because I think I need to throw up, now.”

Once Stiles had emptied his stomach into a bucket, and washed his mouth out, he had felt a little less queasy, and Deaton had checked him over for any injuries, despite Stiles insisting that there were none. Stiles had then taken a seat beside Derek and they had sat together in silence for nearly two hours to make sure that Lydia’s condition remained stable and did not take a turn for the worse. Stiles had reached over and taken a tight hold of Derek’s hand, and Derek had not let go, as they watched Deaton clear up the work stations and check on Lydia. Deaton would sometimes ask Derek questions regarding Were scratches, but otherwise the room remained quiet.

Although Stiles could have asked a hundred questions to Deaton about being a druid, he once again became lost in the war of his conscience, about what to do about Peter, and whether or not to reveal it and to whom.

It was not until Derek reluctantly stood after those two hours, loosened his hand from Stiles’, and said “If you have no further questions, Deaton, I had best be getting back to my cell before the guards come and check.” that Stiles sprang into action.

“Derek,” Stiles said urgently, his decision whether to tell Derek or not instantly made for him at the last possible moment.

Derek immediately turned to him and crouched down in front of him, “Stiles,” Derek said, clearly imagining Stiles’ tone to be implying that he did not want to be left, “Are you going to be ok?” Derek’s gaze was so concerned and searching that Stiles’ heart hurt, knowing what he was about to say to him.

“I’m fine,” Stiles said, reaching for Derek’s hand again. Derek took it without hesitation, and Stiles felt even worse. “But there’s something you need to know. I couldn’t tell you with the others here.” Stiles looked over Derek’s shoulder at Deaton, who was busy across the other side of the room. Stiles dropped his voice to a quick and urgent whisper. “The rogue Were…”

Derek frowned, “What about it?”

“I did see it,” Stiles revealed on a breath, “It’s Peter.”

Derek’s expression blackened instantly, his voice hard-edged when he asked, “What?”

“It’s him. He’s the rogue Were.”

Derek stared at him for a moment or two more, his jaw visibly hardening.

“I think Kate might be forcing him to do it or something,” Stiles revealed quickly, determined to tell Derek the truth of it, “He attacked Lydia, but he was the one who carried her back here. He wanted her to live. I didn’t understand it,” Stiles took a breath, “I’m so sorry Derek. I didn’t want to be the one to have to…” Stiles said, so afraid that Derek would hate him for it, “To have to tell you…but I thought you had the right to know.”

Derek was quiet for a moment, his gaze distant and hurting. Stiles gripped Derek’s hand tighter, fearing that he had just inflicted an irreparable damage. But finally, Derek moved. He lifted Stiles’ hand to his mouth and pressed his lips there for a moment.

“Thank you for letting me know,” Derek mumbled distractedly against Stiles’ knuckles. “I have to go.”

And with that Derek stood, and without a further word to either Stiles or Deaton, Derek left the room.

***

Peter really _really_ did not want to get up that morning.

The previous night had been an absolute shambles, and then some.

Peter had been telling the truth the night before, when he had told Stiles his reasoning as to why he had attacked Lydia rather than Stiles. And it was in order to save Lydia’s life that he had waited in the shadows and then revealed himself to Stiles. He was doing the job, like he had to, but also remaining loyal to the greater cause.

He supposed that he should have guessed that Stiles would have wanted to tell Derek, though. And there was a small part of him that reckoned that he should have just disposed of both Lydia and Stiles altogether, and avoided the dilemma of potentially having Derek discover what was going on. Letting Stiles know about him in order to save Lydia was inevitably going to cause him nothing but trouble. Kindness gave him nothing but grief most of the time. He sometimes wondered if kindness was worth it.

He lay on his bed in his private cell in the Ludus and stared up at the ceiling glumly. What a damn dreadful day this one was about to be. He did not know what would be worse; having to sit through everybody snivelling and worrying about Lydia whilst feeling the guilt slowly gnawing away at his insides (something he tried so hard not to feel, but felt regardless); having to face Kate fucking Argent again after the events of the previous night; or potentially having to look at Stiles and know that the disastrous truth lay just on the tip of the boy’s tongue. A shame, really, as he normally did not mind the company of the rebellious house slave.

The wake-up call came from the guards banging on the cell doors. Peter sighed, rolled out of bed, washed and dressed. He then opened the door to go out into the Ludus and face whatever fresh hells were about to be thrown at him…

To then be grabbed and thrown back into his cell.

Peter hit the back wall hard, and looked up to find his nephew storming into his cell, slamming the cell door behind him.

“Derek,” Peter greeted. Derek knew, then. Well, that was fantastic. Stiles was quickly becoming Peter’s least favourite person.

Derek was seething, his eyes darkened with it. He surged across the cell and closed his fists in the leather straps that crossed Peter’s otherwise bare chest, and slammed him back against the wall.

“You,” Derek accused, and Peter had not heard Derek sound so angry in a long, long time, “You are the rogue Were.”

“And _there_ is that fire that you have been so sorely missing, Derek,” Peter told his nephew, “I was worried you had grown so resigned and complacent in your situation that it had all just…” Peter waggled his fingers near to Derek’s head, “Fizzled away.”

“You can call me out all you like,” Derek snapped, “But at least I am not betraying my own kind by doing the bidding of the Domina.”

“No, you just do the bedding of the Domina,” Peter hit back. A low blow, that Peter did not really mean – he knew Derek was in as an inescapable situation as Peter was – but it had the desired effect; Derek’s grip loosened with the shock of Peter’s statement.

Peter took the opportunity presented, and grabbed Derek in turn, slamming him up against the wall and cracking Derek’s head against it in the process.

“You think I have a way out of this?” Peter hissed at Derek, “You think I have a choice?”

“I think you have been presented with more choices than you have ever let on,” Derek snapped. “You will have made a choice to start doing her work in the first place, so tell me…”

“It’s a long story.”

“If you want forgiveness…”

“I want understanding,” Peter amended, “That’s what I want.”

“Then tell me,” Derek said, and he suddenly sounded desperate, begging, so _young,_ and Peter remembered a thirteen year old boy that struggled to handle his Were-shifts. “So that I can understand.”

“You will hate me for it,” Peter warned, searching his nephew’s face. Derek was Peter’s only ally here in the Ludus, the only one he could rely on – wanted to rely on – and he was potentially about to lose him.

“I already hate you for it,” Derek said, so brutally honest that Peter gritted his teeth, and shoved Derek back into the wall again. “So you may as well just tell me.”

“Will you sit and will you listen?” Peter asked, jerking his head towards the bed.

Derek scowled but nodded, and Peter decided it was safe to let his nephew go. Derek moved to sit on the edge of the bed, and Peter moved to stand opposite him, nearer to the door, in case Derek decided to try and leave before Peter was ready for him to.

“It wasn’t until Gerard handed over the Ludus to Kate that this started,” Peter began, deciding to start at the beginning, “So just over five years ago. I was an Alpha by that point, and at the prime of my Gladiator ‘career’. You were still a Beta then, barely turned seventeen. You were still pretty scrawny, and fighting up the ranks of the lower-Beta classes. Kate wanted something doing for her…” Someone killed for her, but Peter decided not to go into detail; Derek would probably guess that on his own. “So she asked me up to the house. Told me that if I didn’t do it, she would put you in a fight that you couldn’t win…”

“You care more about yourself than me,” Derek said, “So there had to be some other incentive.”

“There was,” Peter allowed, “But actually, the threat to your life meant a hells of a lot at the time. I had just turned Alpha, a position that I should – really – have been bestowed on the death of my dear sister. You were still a Beta, and as a member of my family-pack, technically _my_ Beta. I don’t think you ever noticed, but during that time you naturally began acting as though I were your Alpha. I felt strong with it, but with it also came that need to protect you. You weren’t her champion, then, Derek, and a threat to your life was real. With the loss of the family and our entire way of life, you were the only element of normalcy I had. I wanted to protect that. But then, she also offered me other things; more money on the side of my fights, which would speed up my being able to buy my freedom, and yours. And she promised to make me her champion. A champion gets the best fights, and more income. A champion gets the honour and respect of the arena and of the audience, and is considered the superior of their race. As a twenty-five year old with nothing but you left to lose, that was all very appealing. I could become a champion of the arena, earn my freedom and be respected in that freedom, buy your freedom and Cora and Laura's besides and start my pack with you and Cora as my Betas. I had planned to make Laura stand down as Alpha and become one of my pack, or banish her, but I think for you and Cora’s sakes she would have stayed. We could have started the Hale pack afresh.”

Peter watched Derek as he spoke. He watched how his nephew’s expression changed from surprise to shock to anger and back again.

“You would have banished Laura?” Derek said, furious, “You would have banished your own family. Our chosen Alpha?”

“I would have,” Peter said. Yes, Laura was family. He would not have intentionally harmed her, but the instinct of an Alpha could be a dangerous, territorial thing, and as far as Peter had been concerned at the time, Derek was officially his Beta, and Cora could have been too. “But then things changed over the next year or so. You got stronger, better, and then eventually you were put into an Alpha fight and won. You weren’t mine anymore. You became Kate’s champion, Kate’s favourite. She began to use me as her secret assassin less and less, which was actually quite a relief, as the guilt could sometimes be more than a little irksome. But I still wanted the money, because I still wanted to leave the sands as a champion Alpha of the arena. An unbeaten Alpha of the arena. So whenever she did call and offer me more money, I would take it.”

“How have you not gotten caught? How has nobody seen you and recognised you?”

“I go out in Alpha-Shift,” Peter said, “She takes my collar from me before I leave.”

“Then why haven’t you ever run?” Derek asked, sounding exhaustedly exasperated and angry.

“You think she didn’t think of that? If I ran, she would send a man-hunt after me. She threatened to kill you, at first, but once you became her champion she threatened Cora and Laura instead. If I ran I would have my honour stripped from me, not a penny to my name, no pack. I would be a stray Omega, an Alpha without a pack or a cause, with my face known to every city in the land. If I was caught I would be killed, or humiliated in the arena and killed. She said she would kill me with fire.”

He remembered that particular conversation. It was branded in his memory. Kate had reminded him of the house fire, and told him that she would not just half-burn out his powers and mind; she would melt all the skin from his bones whilst he screamed. Peter prided himself in being a strong wolf, but the trauma of the fire was still something he carried with him. Fire was still a weapon that could defeat him. Hurt him. Destroy all that he was. It was an effective threat to use against him.

He knew Derek would be feeling sympathy for him at mention of the fire, so barrelled on to finish his story whilst Derek still held that little amount of concern for him.

“I would no longer be a champion, I would be no better than a criminal. I would not have a respected freedom, it would be a hunted freedom. I am supposed to save this family. Not you. It is still my pack, it is still my role to earn this for us. And with you paying off guards to see young Stiles – don’t look at me like that, of course I know about that – I am now earning for my own freedom, your freedom and the girls’ freedoms once again. I am so close to earning my own, Derek. I am two fights or one job’s worth of cash away from buying my freedom.”

The thought filled Peter with elated joy.

“It would probably be another two or three fights worth and another job to finish off your earnings too. We could do this, Derek. We could buy our freedom in a matter of months! So when Kate offered a number of jobs over the last few months all out of the blue, I was so close to making that money that I needed, that I took them without hesitation. The first one I had had in a long time was in February, when I was told by Kate to bite Scott on the full moon.”

“Wait,” Derek said, “That wasn’t just a random attack? She told you to specifically bite Scott?”

“Yes. I was given a full description and name, a list of mannerisms and usual outfit. Presumably to make sure that it was him that got bitten and not Stiles. And her exact words were ‘Kill him. Change him. I don’t care.’ I decided not to kill him. The chance to be a maker of a new Were was too strong an instinct to avoid. Plus he screamed so loud that I had to scarper faster than I thought I would. And then, only the last full moon, Kate sends me out to deal with another servant, but she didn’t specify who, like she did with Scott. And then last night, she told me she wanted me to attack Lydia or Stiles. She said she didn’t care which, or whether or not I killed or changed them, she just said one of them had to be attacked,” Peter scowled, “I said no, and she started to threaten about outing me as the rogue Were publically and giving me a public execution involving a stake and burning timber and I decided that I would do her job as asked, but I wouldn’t kill or change either of them, because, honestly, I quite like the pair of them. I chose Lydia because I knew that if I carried her back to the Ludus, it would be realistic that Stiles had been able to carry her back, whereas if it had been him, I doubt they would have believed that Lydia had been able to carry him all the way home.” Peter watched Derek’s whole body tense the moment that the mention of potential harm befalling Stiles was made. “Oh relax, I wasn’t going to touch him. I know what he means to you. I’m cruel, but I’m not _that_ cruel. He caused me some right issues last night as well, reckless boy with no sense of self-preservation that he is. But Lydia has survived the night and hasn’t changed, has she? So I do not understand why I am the villain of this piece when it is clearly Kate that…”

“You could have told me about this years ago!” Derek growled, jumping up from the bed.

“And what good would that have done?” Peter snapped, hackles rising at the challenge, “It wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“I cannot believe that you did all this just to gain your freedom and assert yourself as Alpha of our family-pack!”

“I was born to be Alpha of a pack!” Peter hissed. “I was born to be an Alpha. And for a year or so I _was_ as good as your Alpha, Derek Hale. You are only standing here because I protected you through your time as a skinny-kid Beta in this Ludus!”

“You would have usurped Laura…”

“Not usurped. She would have stood down…”

“And if she hadn’t? And what’s your plan when, hypothetically, me and you both buy our freedoms? I am an Alpha, Laura is an Alpha, and you’re an Alpha. Do you plan to banish the both of us?!”

“Laura might be dead!” Peter spat, “And you, you aren’t going to buy your freedom, because you won’t want to leave your people here; your new friends and your little lover. And if that means putting up with your Domina abusing you for the rest of your days, you will stay for them because you are too much of a gods-damn martyr.”

Derek looked positively wrecked at Peter admitting that Laura could well be dead. Peter felt disgusted with himself for even saying it, but it was a fact that both of them would have to face at some point in their lives.

“So you will be alone?” Derek asked, quiet and bitter.

“I will be a champion that bought their freedom. Celebrated. I won’t be alone, and even if I am, I’ll be gods-damn happy about it.”

“And what happened to the big rebellion?! The big revolution?”

“What rebellion, Derek? The break-out? When exactly do you think that is going to happen? We have been at an absolute stalemate with that plan for the last nine months! We are no closer to finding the collar-keys. We are nowhere near fighting our way out of this place. So why shouldn’t I just walk out of here a free Were?”

“What happened to your revenge?”

“Revenge can take place outside of these Ludus walls, as well as inside them, Derek, I am really not picky.”

“But you have several fights and a job to get through first, if Kate doesn’t miraculously operate a plot to clear out your stash of winnings again like she did with us last time…”

“I have them well hidden this time.”

“Hidden from Kate? Please.”

“You are keeping your relationship with Stiles hidden from Kate. Why can’t I keep money?”

“Stiles is not a possession I have to keep in my room, that can be ransacked at any time. And that is not the point, Peter. You still have a few months left in here before you can earn your freedom. But what happens in the meantime? Does Kate blackmail you some more? What happens if, just before she grants you your freedom, she decides to tell everybody that you are the rogue Were anyway? What if Lydia dies? What about this new group we have been building in here – this new pack? You have betrayed Lydia and Jackson. You are Scott’s _maker_ for the gods’ sake!”

“You won’t tell them,” Peter said, “I know you won’t. And Stiles won’t tell anyone else either, if he knows what is good for him.”

Derek lurched forward, “You lay one finger on him and I will…”

“So defensive, Derek,” Peter tutted. “You really do like this kid don’t you?” It was so blatantly obvious, to Peter at least, who knew all there was to know about Derek, and he knew that Derek had rarely been smitten like this.

“Shut up!” Derek snapped. Peter saw the fist coming and easily side-stepped, grabbing Derek’s arm and twisting it up behind him.

“Calm down, Derek,” Peter hissed into Derek’s ear. “I won’t harm Stiles. But you and he must promise me that you will keep it between you.”

“Scott has a right to know.”

“Does he?”

“He does,” A voice interrupted.

Peter released Derek and the pair of them swung around to face the doorway.

Scott was standing in the opening. “I came to find Derek and I heard you both,” Scott did not sound the slightest apologetic for eavesdropping, and he even closed the door behind him as he came fully into the room. “I heard everything.”

Peter had never heard the boy angry before, but this must have been close to what that sounded like.

“Scott…” He started.

“You are my maker?” Scott said, sounding disgusted, “You are the Were that bit me? Changed me?”

“Yes,” Peter said. “And if you want me to apologise, I am not going to. I have told you from the start that you are a strong Were, Scott. Through that bite you are connected to an ancient line of Weres. I have always had faith in your ability.”

Scott’s eyes narrowed, “Whatever, Peter. No matter what ‘pride’ you feel in me, I am never going to be your Beta.”

That hurt Peter more than he thought it would. “Ouch,” Peter said.

“Scott,” Derek started carefully, anxiously, “You won’t tell anybody about this, will you? We need to stick together through this. If you have heard the majority of this conversation you will know that Peter has been given little choice in his actions on Kate’s behalf.”

“To save his own skin,” Scott countered bitterly.

“Not entirely true,” Peter corrected. “To save the skin of my family, too.”

“To then banish them for being Alphas?”

“That was Derek flying to assumptions, not…”

“It doesn’t matter right now!” Derek snapped, “What does matter is sticking together. If we cause a rift between our group now, it might never heal. We need to see what Kate’s next move is. We have to see how Lydia fares.”

“I can’t make any promises,” Scott said. “But for you, Derek, I will do my best.”

Derek nodded at him, and Peter suddenly realised that although Scott might never accept Peter as an Alpha, he appeared to be finding Derek a potential candidate. Funny, how the fucked-up world worked sometimes.

“Why would Kate order you to be bitten, Scott?” Peter decided to ask, seeing as though he was already knee-deep in shit and wasn’t wading out of it any time soon. It was something he had wanted to ask for some time, but had been unable to, so he decided to hells with it.

“I don’t know,” Scott said, honestly confused and hurt, “I never spoke to her when I was in Lord Chris’ house…” and then his mouth dropped open and his eyes widened in shock, “Unless…no. It couldn’t be…” And then he turned on his heel and walked straight out of the room in some kind of a daze, leaving Derek and Peter alone once again.

“What in the hells was that about?” Peter asked aloud, surprised by Scott’s abrupt and unexplained exit.

“I don’t know,” Derek said, “And right now I don’t care. What I care about is your betrayal, Peter.”

“And what are you going to do about it?” Peter asked. It came out nonchalant, and Peter was glad. Because if it hadn’t come out as nonchalant, then it could have come out as concern – fear at losing his nephew as an ally – and that would never do.

Derek opened his mouth to respond, accusing finger at the ready. But then his face softened and his hand dropped, “Nothing,” Derek said eventually, quietly. “There is nothing I can do. You decided to make these mistakes alone, so I suppose you will have to deal with them alone.”

Derek then walked towards the door, apparently done with the conversation, all the anger in him gone, as though he had just given up.

“Do I have your forgiveness?” Peter asked him. He needed to know that, at least.

“You didn’t want forgiveness, you wanted understanding.” Derek reminded him, not looking him in the eye. “You don’t have my forgiveness…” he paused, “But you do have my understanding. Because I do understand you, Peter. I always have.” And then he left.

And Peter had never felt quite so alone.

***

Two days passed, and Lydia did not wake up. Her condition was stable, but she had not woken up. Mealtimes were subdued in the Ludus; the group was in a state of shock, Jackson pale and uncharacteristically quiet, and Scott was not faring much better.

The news that Peter had turned Scott had hit Scott harder than he had allowed Peter to see. It was something he could barely fathom or process. His maker, the one who had turned him, had actually been training and guiding him the whole time, whilst Scott had thought he had been turned by a rouge, random Were that Scott would never see again, would never learn why from. But now he knew who had turned him, he knew him and trained with him and ate meals with him.

And he could not tell anybody about it.

Scott had promised Derek, and he meant to keep that promise.

Peter and Derek had been quiet at mealtimes too, but they were normally the quietest of the group, so no-one - not even Jackson - had realised that anything was amiss. But Peter and Derek hardly spoke a word to each other in those two days. Peter did not smile once. Derek was edgier and grumpier than usual. Scott knew why, so he noticed it, where the others did not.

Scott watched Peter one dinner time, and found that although he could scarcely believe that the man dubbed _Defeater of Death,_ the most ruthless of the Ludus’ Gladiators, had attacked him, and then never told him, or even apologised for it, he found himself feeling far less angry than he felt he had the right to be.

He could have rightly been furious with Peter. He could have outed him to the whole Ludus.

But then he had overheard so much of Derek and Peter’s confrontation, that he knew Peter’s situation. He knew of the blackmail. He knew that Peter had helped Lydia after her attack. He knew that Peter was a man sick with his situation and desperate for freedom. He was angry with Peter, and he didn’t trust Peter, but he did not hate Peter. He just…didn’t feel much of anything at all.

Maybe it was because knowing Peter was the one who had changed him really changed nothing at all. Scott’s situation in the Ludus hadn’t changed, Scott’s feelings towards Peter hadn’t even particularly changed. And maybe it was also because Peter had just been carrying out orders, having been given limited other choice.

It was not Peter who had decided to attack Scott in the first place.

Kate had plotted Scott’s attack.

And why would she have done that? The only explanation Scott could think of was that Kate knew about his feelings for Allison. But how could she have known that? And if that really was the case, then how was he not dead? Surely if she had known about him and Allison, she would have had him killed outright.

Despite now knowing who his maker was, that full-moon night in February had just become even more of a mystery than it had been before.

Scott didn’t know how to deal with it.

He hadn’t been able to discuss it with Stiles, because Stiles had not been allowed down to the Ludus since he had run onto the sands covered with blood and Lydia in his arms. But even then, Stiles would not be of any help to him.

And Scott had promised Derek that he would not tell anybody else.

He intended to keep that promise.

He had intended to keep that promise.

He really really had.

But then Allison came to visit.

On the third day after Lydia’s attack, Scott was called in to see Deaton.

He had wondered why there were so many guards standing around the medical room door, until he had walked into the room to find Chris and Allison Argent standing there.

“What?” Scott blurted before he could think, and then clapped his hand to his mouth, “Sir, Mistress,” He corrected, “It is good to see you.”

“Scott,” Chris nodded, before turning back to talk to Deaton.

Deaton glanced over at Scott, before saying, “My Lord, would you like to see the patient?”

“I would,” Chris said, and followed Deaton into one of the five rooms that branched out of the central medical room, where Lydia was still sleeping.

“Allison, it is so good to see you,” Scott said as soon as Chris and Deaton were out of earshot, and he reached out to take her hand, squeezing it gently. “You have no idea how much I have wanted to see you these past few days.”

Allison smiled back at him sadly, her dark eyes soft, “I miss you so much,” She whispered. “And I love you, Scott," She blurted on a breath, as though she needed to say it to him - that she could not leave without saying it to him - and for that Scott was extremely glad.

“I love you too,” Scott could not help the quiet, happy laugh that bubbled out of him, “I always will. I…I can’t believe we are being given a moment alone,” Scott said, grateful and disbelievingly glad, glancing around at the room Deaton and Chris had gone into to make sure that they were still truly alone, “It’s been so long.”

“Too long,” Allison whispered back. “When Father said he was coming here I knew I had to come on the off-chance of seeing you.”

“Your father heard about Lydia?” Scott realised.

Allison nodded, lacing their fingers more firmly together, “He wanted to come and see her, and then Deaton asked for an audience with him whilst Aunt Kate was busy in town. She is out rallying men for a hunt for the rogue Were. She is furious that one of her own house slaves has been attacked.”

“She isn’t furious,” Scott blurted bitterly, before he once again clapped his hands over his mouth, and just like that, their romantic moment of reunion was ruined.

“Scott,” Allison asked, eyes serious as they searched his face, “What do you mean?”

Scott looked again to Lydia’s room to make sure that Deaton and Chris were still deep in conversation in the other room, “I didn’t mean to…I don’t…” He stopped, cursing himself and his absolute failure at ever being able to keep a secret from Allison, “I just think,” he started carefully, “That these rogue Were attacks have all been rather convenient for your Aunt.”

Allison watched him, a frown on her face, as her intelligent mind began to work, to remember and consider and wonder. “But if they were…” She started slowly, “Then your attack would have been ‘convenient’ too.”

“Yes,” Scott said, holding her wide-eyed stare, “Yes, it would.”

Scott watched the insinuation dawn in Allison’s eyes, but before she could reply, her father called “Allison.”

And it was all that they could do to part hands before he came walking back into the room.

“Allison, we must be getting on.”

“How is Lydia?” Allison asked her father.

“She will live.”

“I am glad to hear that.”

“My Lord,” Scott said, “My apologies, but the guards said that you wanted to see me?”

“And seen you I have,” Chris replied, “I am pleased to see you doing well. And I am sure Allison has been pleased to see you too.”

Scott tried his best not to look surprised that Chris had essentially aided a meeting between him and Allison, and said, “I thank you, my Lord.”

Chris nodded at him, “Good. Deaton, I will raise the subject of what you have proposed with my sister as soon as her bloodlust for the rogue has lessened somewhat, but know that you have my full approval.”

“I thank you, my Lord,” Deaton said, following Chris out of the room.

Chris turned to Allison, “Allison, after you,” He motioned to the door.

When Scott looked back at Allison, Allison was still staring at him. Scott shook his head, eyes pleading, begging her not to say anything about the revelation she had just had her eyes opened to, begging her to keep it to herself, and not to do anything reckless. She understood him, because with a sharp intake of breath, she composed herself and smiled at him, “I hope to see you soon, Scott.”

“And I you, my Lady.”

Allison’s smile softened, before she obeyed her father and left the room first. Scott knew she would analyse and ponder the information she had been provided, the only question he had was what she would do with it all once she had an answer. Allison was a force to be reckoned with, but her Aunt, her Aunt was unstoppable. If Allison chose to confront Kate, it would not end well. It would not end well for anybody involved.

***

Stiles passed Bennett with a cursory nod, and entered the Ludus.

It had been four days since Lydia’s attack. Four days since he had stepped foot in the Ludus. Four days since he had last seen Derek, Scott and the other Weres.

He had received a message from Derek via Danny, and Stiles had been impatient all day for the night to come, so that he could sneak down to the Ludus and to see Derek.

The moment he entered the shadows of the Ludus entrance, Derek was there, taking his hand and leading him straight towards Derek’s room. Derek had not had to say anything to him, and already Stiles felt calmer than he had in days. He felt better than he had in days.

And once Derek had bundled Stiles into the cell and then followed him in, shutting the door behind him and covering the little window with a cut piece of cloth, Stiles turned to him and shuffled forwards into Derek’s arms.

“I didn’t know if you would be angry with me,” Stiles mumbled into Derek’s shoulder. He had been so afraid that his revealing of Peter as the rogue Were would make Derek hate him, that Derek’s message that day had also come as a huge relief, that he still wanted to see Stiles.

“Of course I’m not," Derek told him, “Well, not for telling me about Peter, anyway,” he said, before flicking Stiles in the ear.

“Ouch! What on earth was that for?”

“You know what that was for,” Derek said, “Making me worry about you! How is it that you attract so much trouble?”

“That occasion was not my fault!” Stiles argued, covering his ear protectively. “That was mainly Kate’s fault! But also your Uncles’ fault…” And then he grimaced, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…”

“Scott knows,” Derek interrupted, “No-one else, but Scott knows.”

Stiles was surprised that Scott had been told; he didn’t know if Derek would want to, “And how is he?”

“Surprisingly ok about it. I think he is busy worrying about other things.”

“What other things?”

“Like why Kate plotted an attack on him in the first place.”

“I have a few ideas about that,” Stiles revealed grimly, rubbing at his ear once more before dropping his hand.

“And are you going to tell me them?”

“No.”

Stiles batted Derek’s hand away as it came up threateningly near his other ear, “Stop! Jeez, do you use that tactic in the arena because I am telling you, it is effective. Stop! Alright? I’m sorry. I will tell you, I promise. Just, not right now. Please.”

Derek dropped his hand, apparently appeased, “Fine.”

“Is there any news on Lydia?” Stiles asked, searching Derek’s face. His stomach tightened at the thought of there having been a turn for the worse.

“The same as before. She will live. It’s just a matter of waiting for her to come around.”

“And if she saw it was Peter that attacked her?”

Derek bit his lip and his eyes darted up and away from Stiles’, “I don’t know.”

“Have you spoken to him about it?”

“I have. It’s all been laid out on the table.”

“And?”

“And there’s nothing I can do about it. I haven’t forgiven him, but I know the reasons why he has done what he has done. He is not entirely to blame, Stiles.”

“I know that,” Stiles said, “ _She_ is.”

Derek held him out at arms-length, checking him over, “I have not been asked up to the house since the attack,” Derek told him, awkwardly and unable to meet Stiles’ eyes, “How has she treated you since? You haven’t been down to the Ludus at mealtimes.”

“She has been storming around in a rage, but out of the house mostly. She has just decided that I am not to go down to the Ludus until Lydia is awake, for some reason. I don’t question her crazy decisions, I just do what I’m told to avoid punishment,” Stiles shrugged out of Derek’s hold playfully and turned away, acting mock-wounded, holding his ear again, “But then I come down here and you hurt me anyway,” he faux-sobbed.

When he looked back at Derek, Derek was rolling his eyes, a small smile playing around his lips.

“It is good to see you smile,” Stiles said, and could not help but smile at him in return.

Derek’s eyes were liquid as he pulled Stiles back in close to him again, “It is good to see you smile too,” Derek admitted, and when Derek said compliments like that they always sounded like a special secret Derek was sharing, that only Stiles had the privilege of being privy to. “When you brought Lydia back I was worried about you. I have never seen you like that before…”

“I know,” Stiles said quietly, “Thank you for taking care of me and the others that night. We all needed you, and you were strong for us all. We don’t deserve you as an Alpha, you know.”

Derek blinked at him, “What did you say?”

Stiles cocked his head, surprised, “Well, you are, aren’t you? We are all basically a pack, and you are basically our Alpha. I have seen how the others look to you – how Scott looks to you – surely you had noticed?”

Derek frowned, as though puzzling it all out in his head, replaying the events of that night. “You really think…”

“I really do,” Stiles assured him, “Which is why I agree with – I assume - your decision to keep Peter’s secret a secret. You are keeping the harmony, keeping the pack together. That’s what they need right now; each other.”

“You really think they see me as an Alpha worth having?” Derek seemed flabbergasted by the very thought of it.

“Of course. If I was a Were, I would choose you as my Alpha,” Stiles said, and watched with interest how that statement had Derek’s eyes darkening within seconds, and all of a sudden the atmosphere in that little room became a whole lot more heated. “Besides, whether you like it or not,” Stiles said, tilting his head up a little, lifting his hands up to play with Derek’s leather collar, “I see myself as one of that group, and I see you as our Alpha.”

“I do like that,” Derek said, voice already lower and rougher and Stiles shuddered with it, “I like that a lot.”

“I thought you would,” Stiles said, pulling Derek down to him by the collar, “Alpha.”

Derek was staring at him like Stiles was some sort of beautiful, mystical being, his eyes liquid, and Stiles licked his lips nervously, aroused as all holy hells, “So did you just invite me down here to injure my ears, then, or?”

“No,” Derek said, gaze locked with Stiles’. His hands came up to bracket Stiles’ waist, “No, not just for that.”

“Oh?” Stiles asked with a mischievous grin, “What else did you have in mind?”

“A couple of things,” Derek replied, coyly, “If you are ready for them.”

“I am ready for anything you are willing to give me, Derek,” Stiles told him, honestly. And gods, did he want it.

“Good,” was all Derek said, before Stiles was being hoisted up, Derek’s hands under Stiles’ thighs, and he was lifted and pressed between the wall and Derek’s body.

Stiles moaned and wrapped his legs tightly around Derek’s waist. Derek groaned in approval and pressed in even closer, leaning in to capture Stiles lips.

The kiss they shared was heated, open and hot. Stiles fought Derek’s tongue for dominance for all of ten seconds before surrendering. In retaliation, however, Stiles ran his fingers with pressure around the edge of Derek’s collar, and Derek gave a small, muffled (and frankly, adorable) growl against Stiles lips and seemed to press impossibly closer. Stiles’ little-Stiles had come to attention almost immediately after he had been lifted off his feet, and the press of Derek’s hardened leather-encased crotch against Stiles’ was driving him crazy.

Derek pulled back, only to lean in and take the lobe of the ear he had flicked into his mouth and Stiles melted into the wall, making a small, pleased noise that he did not think he had ever made before.

Gods, but Derek was perfect in every possible way. Stiles pushed his hands back through the soft dark hair on Derek’s head, tugging just a little, and Derek grunted, moving to kiss him hard once again.

“Derek,” Stiles whined eventually against Derek’s lips, impatient. He needed Derek to touch him. He needed it. “Derek, please. _Please._ ”

“Uh-huh,” Derek mumbled, “Ok.”

Derek let Stiles down, and as soon as his hands were freed, they began working at Stiles’ white servants-loincloth, and Stiles returned the favour, grumbling about the need for so many leather straps as he did so.

Derek got Stiles in hand before Stiles could get to Derek, and a choked noise was punched out of Stiles before he could stop himself.

Derek hushed him quietly, “You have to keep quiet, Stiles,” he whispered hotly into Stiles’ ear, “They will hear us.”

“Mmm,” Stiles acknowledged, a little quieter.

But then Derek’s hand started moving and Stiles abandoned trying to open Derek’s pants. He buried his face into Derek’s neck. Gods, but it felt good.

“Der…” Stiles mumbled into Derek’s skin, before moving to look into Derek’s face.

The sight that met him took his breath away. Derek wasn’t looking at Stiles, he was looking down at the movement of his hand, his dark eyelashes brushing his cheeks, a blush decorating the smooth tan skin that stretched across his cheekbones, his chiselled jaw. Derek had his bottom lip held between his front teeth, and Stiles moved a quaking hand up the spaces of naked skin between the leather padding on Derek’s chest, feeling ridges of muscle and smooth, smooth skin. Derek was the most beautiful man Stiles had ever seen, and one of the most beautiful men he had ever known (allowing, of course, for the precious being that was Scott McCall).

Stiles let out a shuddering gasp, as Derek’s fingers fractionally tightened and he moved his thumb just so over the head of Stiles’ cock. “Jeez,” Stiles breathed with a judder, glancing down at Derek’s hand and then back up to Derek’s face, to find Derek now looking at him, the hazel-green of his eyes nearly swallowed by the ink black of his pupils.

“Good grief, you’re hot,” Stiles decided to tell him, and Derek sent him this wicked little smirk and made a twisty-damn-good movement with his hand that had Stiles speechless again.

Derek’s pace quickened, and Stiles’ knees buckled and if he wasn’t pressed between the wall and Derek’s solid body, then he would have been sinking to the floor.

“Derek…” Stiles warned on a moan, “I’m going to…”

“Then do it,” Derek said, voice liquid sex, and Stiles saw white for a couple of seconds, as he spilt into Derek’s fist. He moaned loud and by accident, and Derek’s free hand came up to smother his mouth, and that just made it hotter, for some reason.

“Derek,” Stiles groaned the moment he was back to his senses, slouched halfway down the wall, and barely still standing. “You have broken me.”

“I do hope not,” Derek sounded amused, but also very turned on, and Stiles was near enough eye-level with Derek’s crotch at that point that he could see he was still hard.

“Derek,” Stiles said, holding out a hand, “Help me to the bed so I can jerk you off, pretty please.”

“Since you asked so nicely,” Derek said sarcastically, and Stiles could even hear the eye roll in Derek’s voice.

“Thanks,” Stiles said, as Derek’s clean hand lifted him up by the arm and guided him onto the bed.

Stiles knew he must have looked a sight, half undressed and probably smeared with cum and lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be embarrassed or care. Derek didn’t seem to mind, if his devouring once-over of Stiles had any say, and Derek moved to carefully remove the pieces of clothing Stiles hadn’t been able to get off of himself, and also off of Derek.

Stiles was a captive audience for that part.

Derek shed his leather padding and leather belts that made up his Gladiator attire, and Stiles admired each new piece of skin that was revealed to him.

“Derek,” Stiles mumbled, when Derek only had his leather pants left, sitting up and reaching out for him.

Derek allowed Stiles to catch him by the leather around his waist and tug him forwards until Derek’s legs met the edge of the bed. Stiles concentrated on working Derek’s pants open himself, before letting Derek step out of them.

“Wow,” Stiles said, raking his eyes up the length of Derek’s naked body and trying not to feel too envious of such perfection, “Just…err…wow.”

Derek ducked his head, mumbled, “Yeah, yeah,” And climbed onto the bed beside him. “Just tell me how you want me.”

“Now that, is a question with a hundred different answers, Derek dear,” Stiles told him, manhandling Derek to sit back against the wall, not just in order to touch Derek as much as possible, of course, but to get him in the position Stiles wanted him in. “That’s better,” Stiles decided.

Derek raised an eyebrow at him, a moment before Stiles straddled Derek’s lap and kissed him, experimentally slowly.

Stiles could feel the smile of Derek’s lips against his, and then the shuddering exhale of breath when Stiles wrapped his long fingers around Derek’s cock.

“You alright?” Stiles asked, moving back to look into Derek’s darkened eyes.

“Keep going,” Derek encouraged, voice cracking part-way through, his eyes fluttering closed. “Don’t stop.”

Stiles did as he was told. He prided himself in being a fast learner, and despite being a little nervous at being a novice at touching someone else, he remembered how Derek had touched him and how he liked to touch himself, and worked from there. Derek didn’t seem to be complaining, if the choked-off little sounds he was making in an attempt to stay quiet were any indication.

“I wish I could hear you properly,” Stiles found himself admitting breathlessly against Derek’s temple. “That you could make the sounds you want to.”

“Stiles…” Derek said his name in a stuttered hiss, his head falling audibly back against the wall.

Feeling confident and encouraged, Stiles leant forward to press his lips to the corner of Derek’s open mouth, allowing his free hand to explore the expanse of Derek’s chest and stomach as his other hand kept its pace, passing an experimental thumb across the plush head, and Derek moaned jaggedly.

“So,” Stiles asked, voice wobbling, “You like being considered the Alpha, huh?”

Derek made a ‘nghhh’ sound, and his eyes opened into slits to watch Stiles through them. He nodded short and sharp.

“You like the idea of being my Alpha?”

“Stiles…” Derek warned, arching up into Stiles’ hand and Stiles’ relished that moment when their bodies pressed more tightly together.

“You do, then,” Stiles grinned, both pleased and astounded that he could make Derek Hale, the _Undefeated Alpha,_ fall apart like this. He quickened the pace of his hand.

He could tell when Derek started to get close to release. His panting groans grew more frequent, escaping despite the fact that Derek’s bottom lip was once again trapped between his teeth. His hands clenched tighter onto Stiles’ thighs and his body displayed all the signs of the building tension.

“Are you close, Derek?” Stiles asked him.

Derek nodded frantically, “Stiles…”

“Then I want to see you come,” Stiles said, “Please.”

And Derek came, spilling over Stiles’ hand and slumping back against the wall. Stiles watched him, drank the sight in, keeping up the movement of his hand until Derek was spent.

Derek flopped sideways to lie on his back on the bed and pulled Stiles down on top of him.

“Gross, Hale,” Stiles complained, as his cum-covered hand landed on the tackiness on Derek’s stomach.

Derek shrugged drowsily.

Stiles rolled his eyes and got up from the bed, grabbing the wash cloth by the filled water bowl. He cleaned himself off, and rinsed the cloth, before moving to the bed, carefully running the cloth over Derek’s skin.

Derek was watching him lazily. “I should have known you would be a talker,” Derek said.

“Is that really surprising?” Stiles said, with a self-deprecating grin.

“No, and I’m not complaining. Though we are going to have to make sure we keep it down.” Derek looked thoughtful, before pulling Stiles down next to him the moment Stiles discarded the wash cloth. “If you can promise to keep yourself quiet next time,” Derek said, innocently conversational, “I might bring you off using only my mouth.”

“Good gods.” Stiles cursed towards the ceiling, before turning his head to grin at Derek, “If you keep talking like that, Hale, you are going to have me hard again.”

“Again,” Derek said, sending Stiles an easy smirk that had Stiles’ heart melting, “I’m not complaining.”

Once again Stiles wondered just how he was the apparent type of such an Adonis, but just like Derek, he most certainly wasn’t complaining.

Stiles lifted a hand to run it back through Derek’s hair, and a moment later Derek had moved to lie over him, big muscly arms bracketing Stiles’ head as Derek bent his head to kiss Stiles thoroughly. It was slow, languid, _happy_. And Stiles was left breathless.

Even more so, when Derek eventually ended the kiss and looked down at him, and Stiles attempted to say something, and failed, and just gawped up at the beautiful man above him. And Derek’s grin grew slowly at the expression on Stiles’ face. It was an open, smug grin, and it was so dashing, with those perfect teeth, and the crinkles that appeared in the corners of Derek’s eyes, that any breath that hadn’t already left Stiles, made for the exit.

Stiles lay in stunned silence for a moment, before Derek started laughing.

“Oh shut up,” Stiles whined, pushing Derek’s shoulder.

“I didn’t say anything,” Derek said, and continued laughing, and it was a bright sound that left Stiles tingling, and longing to hear it again and again.

Stiles stayed in Derek’s cell for another hour, just lying beside him and occasionally talking and frequently kissing him and taking a chance to explore Derek’s body with his hands, and sometimes with his lips.

In that cell, for those few hours, it was just the two of them, in their own little world, where the struggles and fears of their everyday life did not exist. And Stiles knew that he had to enjoy that moment – and any future moments like this – whilst they lasted, because he knew that those moments could not last forever.

***

Two days later Lydia woke up. And she woke up screaming.

***


	8. Chapter 8

Stiles took a deep breath, hesitated for a moment, and then knocked on the door.

“Enter,” Kate’s voice was its usual sharp command.

Stiles opened the door, wondering what the hells he had managed to do to upset her now.

She only ever called him to her like this when he had done something wrong and she wanted to punish him, but he could honestly not recall doing anything to incur her wrath. Well, other than having a relationship with Derek in private, secretly receiving books and asking for information from Allison, keeping Scott and Allison’s relationship secret, keeping Lydia and Jackson’s relationship secret, keeping Erica and Boyd’s relationship secret, knowing that Peter was the rogue Were and that Peter helped Lydia home after attacking her and keeping _that_ secret, and also teaching Lydia and Kira to read in his spare time, but all those things would not cause a call to Kate’s rooms, they would cause a storm of rage and public punishment or possibly death.

So, instead, he had spent the entire walk to Kate’s rooms wondering what the hells he had done. He had gone through the possible small discrepancies in behaviour; fidgeting, perhaps? Or slouching? He did not think so. Kate had barely been in the house in the days following Lydia’s attack, gathering support for a hunt for a rogue Were that did not exist, and that Kate knew did not exist. A rogue Were that Kate controlled and sent out, but clearly did not want to be found out, hence the rallying of a mob of hunters. She had barely seen him, so had barely been there to see him do anything wrong.

The only thing that he could think of, therefore, was that Kate was angry about Deaton defying her and demanding that Stiles help him treat Lydia following the attack. It had been a week ago, and Stiles had thought it was strange that Kate had not punished him for that before now. Not that it had been his fault, of course, but Kate liked having someone to blame, and she seemed to like blaming Stiles.

Kate’s regarded him stonily from her desk as he entered, “Stiles.”

“Domina,” Stiles replied, forcing himself not to shift about nervously, “You asked to see me?”

“I did,” Kate replied. She had a small dagger in her hand, that she had presumably been using to break seals on various letters from various allies, but now she threw it expertly into the wood of the desk, pulled it out, flipped it over and did it again. “My brother came to see me a couple of days ago. He says that Deaton is very impressed with the help you gave him after Lydia’s attack.” _Thud._ The dagger hit the wood particularly hard. “Lord Christopher and Dr Deaton believe that you would make a good medical assistance for the Ludus.” _Thud._ “And that you should receive training from Deaton.” _Thud._ “Personally, I would not have you anywhere but serving in this house, and nowhere near Deaton.” _Thud._ “But unfortunately my brother seems to have finally learned how to fully understand blackmail, and now I have little other choice.” _Thud._ “You will go to Deaton’s rooms one evening a week for medical training. By decree of my brother.” _Thud._ “And the resident vet. Of course, you can refuse?” Kate’s narrowed eyes fix on him once again.

Stiles was not going to let the opportunity slide, no matter how angry it made her.

“I would like to be able to help the Ludus if I can offer medical assistance.”

“I thought you might,” Kate sneered. “You will report to Deaton tomorrow evening. One of the guards on duty will escort you there.”

Stiles wondered what on earth Chris had to his sister to blackmail her into bending to his wishes in such a way. At that moment, he did not care. He was grateful for it, and grateful to his former master.

“Thank you, Domina.”

“Oh, it is not my doing, boy. Believe me. You are dismissed.”

Stiles turned to leave, a second before the dagger planted itself in the wood frame of the door, inches from his face.

Kate’s voice was like ice as it stabbed into him from behind; “If you think I have forgiven you for your disobedience that night, you are wrong. I am going to make your life miserable, Stilinski, until I see fit.” He heard her chair scrape the floor and a moment later her hand closed around the back of his neck, tight around his collar. “Do you _still_ want to learn from Dr Deaton?”

Stiles pursed his lips, bit his tongue, and replied, “Yes, Domina, I do.”

“If you wish,” Kate’s words smoothed, silky and dangerous. She used the hand on his neck to shove him forwards, “Leave.”

Stiles made a hasty exit, not daring to look at the dagger that had only just missed his head. For the first time, Stiles was relieved that Kate Argent was such a good hunter and could aim a blade.

He left the room, completely taken aback by what had transpired. He wondered what game Deaton was playing, because Stiles did not think he was at all a good choice for a medical assistant – someone who would more likely throw up or faint in the face of a gory injury – but he had helped save Lydia’s life. He also knew that any opportunity to get out of the house should be taken. He was actually excited to start lessons with Deaton. Maybe he could prod him more about the revelation that Deaton was a druid.

Kate’s threats prickled uncomfortably in the back of his mind, and knowing that she was behind the attack on Scott and could as easily do as much to him – and nearly had – was a constant companion, warning him not to be too stupid. But Stiles had become very good at ignoring his common sense. He would take Kate’s punishments when they came, because they would be worth it in the long run.

Slightly heartened, despite having just had a dagger thrown in the direction of his head, he walked straight to Lydia and Kira’s room. Lydia was still in recovery and was bedridden, but had been moved up to her own room once the worst was over.

She had woken up that first time screaming, Deaton had told them. She had been disorientated, confused and upset. She could not remember anything about that night, which meant that if she had seen Peter, she couldn’t remember, and although it hurt Stiles to keep the truth from her, it was a huge relief for Peter and for Derek, and probably for the best for the sake of their fledgling pack.

They thought that the screaming could have been a delayed reaction to the attack, as consciousness returned from unconsciousness. But that did not explain why she had woken up screaming every night since. No-one had told Kate of this. Lydia’s fraught nights and screams and confused wanderings had been contained in Deaton’s surgery, and then Kira, Stiles, Danny and Matt had been dealing with them since she had returned to her room. They kept her hushed, calmed her down, watched over her. They had vowed to keep her condition secret from their Domina, because the Domina did not want troublesome house slaves. The unity of the house slaves was a stronger bond than that that they shared with their Domina. Stiles had been concerned that Matt would not have wanted to betray the Domina’s trust, but he had aided Lydia just as much as the rest of them. He said that his loyalties lay elsewhere than with the Domina. Stiles did not know exactly who they lay with instead, but he believed Matt to be on their side.

They all assumed that it was a negative aftereffect of the attack; that Lydia relived it in her sleep. She would never remember why she was screaming after she had stopped, she did not remember a single dream or nightmare. It made Stiles feel contempt for Peter, even though he knew that Kate had given Peter little other choice. Some of Peter’s motives in the first place had been selfish; Derek had filled him in on Peter’s confession.

Lydia was leaning back on a pile of old cushions and blankets that the Domina had felt charitable enough to part with, and a couple of thin blankets covered her lap.

She watched Stiles curiously. “Kira said that Kate asked for you. What did she want?” She asked.

“Err…” Stiles stopped, and a ran a hand back through the short strands of his hair – finally growing back, and so far safe from being shorn off again – “A bit strange actually. She is letting me have lessons on medicine…once a week…with Deaton.”

Lydia’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, “Why?”

“Well, my sentiments exactly,” Stiles pointed at her thoughtfully, “But apparently Lord Chris has blackmailed her into letting Deaton teach me.”

“So Deaton organised all this? Why?”

“Apparently I was a help to him on the night of…well, you know.”

Lydia’s lips pursed and she nodded shortly, “I wonder what Lord Christopher has on the Domina to get his way like this.”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to know,” Stiles shuffled his feet, “How are you feeling?”

She finally smiled, “Better today, I think,” Her hand hovered cautiously over her stomach, where her stitches were. The smile wobbled, “I had a better night, last night.”

“You did,” Stiles agreed, moving to perch beside her on the side of the bed. He reached for her hand and held it tightly.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Lydia looked up at him, her eyes brimming. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

“It might just be an effect of the attack, and your lack of memory of it,” Stiles suggested with more confidence than he felt. He honestly did not know what it was that was causing Lydia’s nightmares. He felt the guilt of knowing that it was Peter that had attacked her and not telling her once again weighing heavy on his shoulders.

“So hopefully they will wear off eventually,” Lydia said. “The nightmares.”

Stiles squeezed Lydia’s hand, “Hopefully,” he agreed.

***

Stiles glared at Peter over the large pots sitting on the serving table.

“Stiles,” Peter greeted, coolly, holding out his plate.

“Peter,” Stiles responded sharply, wrenching the wooden plate out of Peter’s hand and aggressively spooning potatoes onto it.

Stiles had been put on serving duty on his own that day, with no Matt or Danny to help him. He was also not allowed to sit and have lunch with Scott, and had to return to the kitchens once he had served all the _Wolves_. He presumed that it was some kind of petty punishment, but at that moment, he was actually rather glad that Danny and Matt weren’t there, because then nobody was in earshot, and any sniping between Stiles and Peter would inevitably be about Lydia and the attack.

Peter was watching the movement of Stiles’ hands.

“How is she?” Peter asked, and Stiles did not know whether Peter looked uncomfortable because of being the reason Lydia was hurt in the first place, or because he didn’t really want to ask if she was alright, but felt like he should.

Stiles glared at him and did not reply.

“I’m sorry, Stiles.”

Stiles nearly spilled a spoonful of stew all over the table because it sounded mostly-genuine. He tried to hide his surprise with a scowl.

“It’s not me you should be saying sorry to,” Stiles sniffed, handing over the plate. He could not help but thaw a little, however, in the face of Peter’s charismatic remorse. 

He passed Peter’s plate back, with a little less hostility.  

“I hate it when we fight, darling,” Peter commented.

Stiles, rolled his eyes in spite of himself, but he managed to force down the amusement attempting to tug his lips into a smile. “I’m not forgiving you that easily.”

“I don’t expect you to,” Peter said, with an unfairly charming smile as he turned to walk away, “But I will win you back eventually.”

“We will see,” Stiles grumbled under his breath.

Stiles turned to look at the sands, still awaiting the arrival of Derek and Scott. He immediately spotted Derek on the sands, stalking towards the hall like a dark cloud, grumpy face in full-force. But by the time he had noticed Stiles at the serving table, and then reached him, the clouds seemed to have cleared somewhat.

“Your uncle apparently does not know the difference between apology and flirtation,” Stiles informed Derek, the moment he arrived.

The clouds darkened slightly. “You fell for neither, of course.”

“I don’t know,” Stiles shrugged, picking up a plate for Derek and starting to dish out food. “The flirting was just about winning me round.”

“I hope that was sarcasm,” came the deadpan response.

Stiles glanced up at Derek and grinned at him slyly, ignoring the Sourwolf’s apparent grumpy mood. “Don’t you worry, Sourwolf. You are still my favourite Hale.”

Derek watched him for a moment, before finally his lips slid up into a small, pleased smirk, and Stiles counted it as a triumph. “Good.” He took the offered plate, “See you later, Stiles.”

Stiles watched him go, wondering what had managed to get his Sourwolf in a sour mood.  However his musings were promptly interrupted by the arrival of Scott. Where Derek had looked particularly moody, Scott looked particularly flustered.

“Stiles,” Scott said, “How are you?” It did not sound like a genuine enquiry to Stiles’ health, because Scott was using that tone of voice and that awkward stance that Stiles knew meant that Scott was just using small-talk to ease Stiles into some big, usually unwelcome, piece of news.

“I’m good, Scott,” Stiles was suspicious as he picked up a plate for Scott’s food, “Why?” He asked, slowly, “How are you?”

“I err…” Scott shuffled, glancing around them, presumably to check there were no eavesdroppers, “I’m ok, but err…”

“Scott. Serving you stew and potatoes is not going to last forever, you know. I’m not supposed to be ‘spending time’ with you today. Whatever it is spit it out.”

“Allison knows,” Scott’s admission came in a rush.

Stiles blinked and this time he really did spill stew onto the table.

“Knows what?”

Scott’s voice dropped to barely a whisper, “That Kate ordered my attack.”

Stiles’ heart clenched as though suddenly gripped by ice cold fingers. “What?”

“I saw her a few days ago and I may have…I may have suggested accidentally that all the rogue Were attacks had been very convenient for Kate. Allison put two and two together. I didn’t mean to say anything. But I was angry and confused and it just came out.”

Stiles sighed, and if he hadn’t been holding a serving spoon in one hand and Scott’s plate in the other, he would have pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. It was a terrified, gnawing exasperation, but Scott didn’t need to know that Stiles was internally panicking.

“So Allison doesn’t know about Peter?” Stiles asked, keeping his voice low. He cast an eye around the guards in the room, but thankfully none of them had yet seemed to have noticed that Scott and Stiles were having an extended conversation.

Scott shook his head, “No. She just now thinks that the attacks were convenient for Kate and that Kate somehow organised them.”

Stiles let out a breath, “At least it’s vague enough that Allison could have come to that assumption on her own, and you can’t be blamed for telling her.”

“Allison won’t let this lie,” Scott said, clearly nervous, “She will say something. Do something.”

“I know,” Stiles frowned, “But maybe I can get a message to her and tell her to leave it be. Unless, of course, you want Kate to be confronted about it?”

Scott shook his head, “I don’t know if I do. I told Allison in the first place because I was angry with Kate and I wanted Allison to know the truth and to warn her, but then, if Kate really does know about me and Allison and that was why I was attacked, then it may encourage Kate to do away with me completely.”

“She hasn’t so far,” Stiles reminded him, reassured him. Once again, Stiles cast his eyes around the room, and spoke the next words on a whisper, “She might not know how close you two really are, and that’s a secret only you, Allison, me and your mother know. Allison is smart. Even if she does say something to Kate, she will make sure that you are kept out of it.”

Scott sighed, “Maybe you’re right.” He paused, “I have also been thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

“Rude,” Scott countered, finally smiling a little. “I’ve been thinking, and I think that Derek should know.”

Stiles blinked, “What?”

“Derek asked me last week why Kate ordered my attack in the first place. I think it will help us if he knows. I think it’s only fair he knows the whole story. Besides, I know about you and him now…”

Stiles shifted uncomfortably. He had wanted to be the one to tell him, and had felt guilty that Scott had had to find out from someone else. “Scott, I was going to tell you…”

“I know,” Scott smiled properly then, taking his plate back from Stiles, the serving of food having taken an unrealistic amount of time, but luckily not rousing any notice from the guards. “But even if I hadn’t overheard Derek and Peter talking about it, I knew you liked him, anyway.”

Stiles frowned at him.

“You think I wouldn’t notice how you look at him?” Scott said, “I’m your best friend, Stiles, I know how you smile, and who you smile for. I like the way he makes you smile.” Scott was looking less frustrated now. Now he just looked genuinely happy. “I am glad for you, Stiles. You deserve to be happy. You deserve to be loved.”

“I already had love,” Stiles reminded him, suddenly struck by the possibility that Derek might _love_ him. “I love you.”

“I know,” Scott’s eyes crinkle at the corners, and Stiles cannot help but smile back, “I love you too, brother.”

“Whatever happens with Allison,” Stiles promises, “We will figure it out.” He then brandished his spoon at Scott, “Now go and eat, before we get caught out.”

“Hopefully we will never get caught out,” Scott said earnestly, before he moved towards the table where Isaac, Erica, Boyd, Jackson, Derek, and even Peter, were sitting.

Stiles hoped to the gods, that that would be the case. The alternative was too terrible to think about.

***

The next evening, Stiles was scheduled for his first lesson with Deaton.

He walked towards the stairs down to the Ludus, with his designated guard, as he had been instructed, and cast a wary eye at the Domina, who was standing as still as a statue of pure ice in the hall, watching him go. They descended the stairs, the guard opened the gate for them both, and then they walked in silence to Deaton’s surgery.

Once they got there, Deaton immediately dismissed the guard, telling him to pick Stiles up in a few hours, and then he shut the door.

And then there was just Stiles and Deaton standing in the quiet medical room.

“Really?” Stiles found himself asking, “I feel faint and sick looking too long at blood, and you want me to be your assistant? Scott was always better with gore. You should have picked him as your assistant.”

Deaton looked amused. “Scott is a Were, with no medical training. You are human and have basic training, you can read and write, and were a great help in the aid of Lydia’s injuries. You will do just fine.”

“And you set this up?”

“I suggested to Lord Christopher that you would be of aid to me. Having an extra pair of hands behind-the-scenes at tournaments would be most useful. I did not need to push too hard, Lord Christopher and Lady Allison thought that it was an excellent idea. Speaking of which,” Deaton turned briskly and pulled a book from amongst others on the shelves behind him, “Lady Allison left this for you.”

He passed it to Stiles, and Stiles looked down at the book of _Supernatural Lore_ that Allison had promised him. Stiles ran his fingers over the cover.

“It contains fairly accurate information about most Supernatural creatures that have been found and studied in this country," Deaton said, "It is not, of course, a complete list of creatures. There are others that the hunters that wrote this book had never even heard of, or only had heard whispers of. Hell Hounds have only been a fairly recent discovery, for example. Many hunters in this country, Argents included, do not know the full scope of Supernatural creatures that exist in this world, in this country, and even in this very city.”

That piqued Stiles’ curiosity. “Do you know the full scope of Supernatural creatures, Doctor Deaton?”

“I know more than they do, but I am not about to supply them with that intel. It gives them more creatures to hunt, and more will to hunt. I would never do that.”

“Is there any information about Druids in here?” Stiles could not help but pry, turning the book over in his hands.

Deaton did not seem fazed. He nodded. “Unfortunately the hunters in this country know about Druids, and something of what they can do.” Deaton smiled that secretive smile, “But they do not know all that we can do.”

“Huh,” Stiles said, flicking through the pages, “What power do Druids…”

“You are here to learn about medicine, Stiles, not magic.”

Stiles sheepishly closed the book.

“But if I happen to accidentally go off on a tangent,” Deaton said airily, “That cannot really be helped. I have not had a student in a long time.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes, assessing, “A student of medicine,” He asked slowly, “Or a student of magic?”

“Either. Both,” Deaton said, simply, “If you wished it, you could do both, one or neither. But you will be learning medicine before and above anything else. Understood?”

“Understood,” Stiles nodded, holding the book to his chest, and felt a freedom and curiosity to learn that he had not felt in a long time.

“Good,” Deaton said, “Take a seat. We will start by discussing what you have already been taught by Melissa McCall.”

Stiles was not surprised that Deaton was a good teacher, and he quickly found himself picking up at the stage where Melissa had had to leave him, and then learning more besides. The first hour was filled with information and a couple of demonstrations, and Stiles found his brain relighting, eager to absorb new information after so long without; even the book on _Were Lore_ that Allison and Chris had given him had not given his brain as much motivation as that lesson did.

But after that first hour, Deaton stopped.

“I think that that is plenty for today.”

“But,” Stiles protested, “You said to the guard to pick me up in a few hours. I must have only been here for an hour.” He did not want to go back to the house yet.

“I do not want to overload you with information. That is not an effective method of practice. But you are right, the guard is not coming back for an hour or two yet.”

Stiles frowned. “Then I don’t understand.”

Deaton smiled, “You will be spending the rest of the time in that room, I would imagine.” Deaton pointed towards one of the several doors that led out of the medical room. It was a door that Stiles had not opened before. It was not Deaton’s office, nor one of the large walk-in supply cupboards, nor the room in which Lydia had occupied during her recovery. He wondered if it was another recovery room.

Stiles looked back at Deaton, suspiciously. “Why?”

“I have paperwork to do, and you will be busy.” Deaton nodded towards the door, “Off you go. I will be in my office.”

“Should I take my book?” Stiles asked, utterly confused, reaching out to pick up his _Supernatural Lore_ book with the hand that was not clutching the notes he had made during the lesson. “And my notes?”

Deaton shrugged, “You can if you like. I doubt you will need them,” He smiled with a knowing look on his face. “I will see you later, Stiles.” And then he turned and walked into his office, leaving Stiles standing in stunned bewilderment in the centre of the room.

Maybe it was a druid thing? Something to do with magic? Maybe this was all a part of the lesson?

Still frowning, Stiles edged towards the door that Deaton had pointed out, and cautiously opened it.

He stepped into a plain room, with a heavy wooden-framed bed and a small chest with a basin and jug and water. He supposed that he had been right to think it was another recovery room, but it looked different from the one that Lydia had spent several days in that week. It looked cosier, like it had been purposefully edited to look less clinical.

He was still totally confused. There was no reason why Stiles would want to spend several hours in that room, so he had absolutely no idea what Deaton was playing at. But Stiles was not going to pass up the chance of being able to read his book and notes with no fear of being discovered and punished for it.

He shut the door.

And leapt backwards with a shriek when he found someone standing behind it in the semi-darkness.

“Good gods,” Stiles yelped, clutching his chest, “Derek?”

***

Derek could not help but feel a little smug at having surprised Stiles so successfully.

Stiles stared at him in shock, before his eyes narrowed into a glare, and he poked Derek in the chest. “You lurking creeper! You have been in here the whole time?!”

“Yes.”

Stiles stopped glaring. He cocked his head in a rather endearing fashion. “Does Deaton know?”

Derek rolled his eyes, “Yes, Deaton knows.” He smiled, “I told you I would sort out a safer way of seeing each other.”

Stiles watched him for a second, eyes darting back and forth, before his face split into one of his radiant, beaming smiles. “You planned this?”

“Deaton wanted you as a medical assistant and I wanted to spend time with you in a way that was less risky than sneaking you to my room once a week. Deaton and I discussed, and we figured something out.”

“So…Deaton is supporting in our secret relationship?”

“Yes,” Derek said.

Stiles started laughing, and Derek felt a grin tug at his own lips.

“Deaton just happens to be a romantic,” Derek offered with a shrug.

“Clearly,” Stiles laughed, placing the book and papers in his hand down on the table, before stepping up to Derek, and before Derek could say anything else, Stiles had taken Derek’s face in his hands and Derek felt soft, smiling lips press against his own. “You are a genius,” Stiles murmured against his lips, before stepping back.

Derek felt more than a little smug. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Stiles corrected, and Derek watched him take another look around the room. “So we have a couple of hours?”

“We do. And Deaton cannot hear us,” Derek decided to add, because he was very glad of the fact, “He has put runes on the doors that muffle noise. We can be as loud as we want.”

Stiles’ smile turned a little slyer, and his eyes were a little more heated. Stiles licked his lips - something he often did without realising how much Derek got distracted by it – and Derek found himself watching closely, as always. “You make that sound like a challenge, Hale,” Stiles said. His voice suddenly rougher, his grin was cocky and handsome on his face.

Derek quirked an eyebrow, “Only if you are up to the challenge.”

Derek stepped forward, moving into Stiles’ space again, wanting to be close to him. He placed his hands on Stiles’ hips, rubbing his thumbs along the bare skin under the open shirt.

“I like a challenge,” Stiles said, and he looked up at Derek with his amber-coloured eyes and Derek got momentarily lost.

Derek wasted no time in backing Stiles towards the bed, and Stiles went willingly, sitting down on the edge of it when he reached it. Derek guided him down, before sinking to his knees between Stiles’ spread thighs.

On his knees on the floor, Derek was shorter of height than Stiles was sitting on the edge of the bed, and Stiles leaned down to kiss him. Derek hummed, pleased, and surged up to meet him, gripping Stiles’ bare thighs for balance, shivering with the feel of Stiles’ long, elegant fingers pushing back through his hair.

Stiles’ lips parted and Derek tasted his mouth, slow and languid and so very sweet.

“Derek,” Stiles murmured against Derek’s lips, and it was like Stiles was saying the name of one of the gods, the way he breathed it.

Derek opened his eyes to find Stiles watching him, his amber-brown eyes darkened. He allowed himself a moment to trace his eyes over Stiles’ face, taking in each long eyelash, each mole, his smooth pale skin and his plush, kiss-darkened lips. Derek had not considered anything beautiful in a long time - he had not seen much beauty and kindness as a Gladiator - but that was before Stiles, because Stiles was truly beautiful, and Derek wanted him, with a hunger he had never felt before.

Derek pulled away from Stiles’ lips and dropped his head to begin mouthing at the inside of Stiles’ thigh.

“Derek,” Stiles breathed again, and Derek could not help but smile.

He slid a hand under the thigh, lifting it as he wrapped his other arm around Stiles’ waist. He grazed his teeth along the skin, before following the movement with a broad stroke of his tongue and felt Stiles shudder against him. He switched to the other thigh and mirrored the movement, just to hear the crescendo of the breathy noises Stiles was making.

“Derek, please,” Stiles finally begged for more, and Derek did not think he had the patience to deny him for much longer.

He worked idly at unwrapping the house-slave loincloth from around Stiles, and it did not take long for Stiles to be bared to him. He took Stiles in hand and looked up at him.

Stiles’ irises were swallowed in the black of his pupils, his skin was flushed and his lips were parted with a moan that was unrestrained, because they had no need to be quiet this time. Derek intended to hear him.

Derek made sure that Stiles was holding eye contact, before pressing a lingering kiss to Stiles’ thigh, and then moving up to take the head of Stiles’ cock into his mouth.

“Oh fuck,” Stiles swore colourfully and his head fell back.

Once Stiles was no longer looking at him, Derek swallowed him down, returning his attention to the task at hand. He applied light suction, swiftly bobbing his head, keeping his lips tight. He knew how to do it, and do it well, because he had had to do it before for some of Kate’s wealthy and powerful friends, but right then, with Stiles, he finally understood why it was so enjoyable. He was encouraging sounds out of Stiles that had his own skin prickling with need and his cock hardening in his leather pants. He liked the smell of Stiles, the taste of him, the feeling of him against his tongue and the sounds that Stiles made. It was like Stiles was a drug, made just for Derek’s tastes, and he wanted more and more. He swallowed around Stiles, and Stiles made a small, whining sound that had Derek squeezing Stiles’ waist in response.

“Oh gods, Derek,” Stiles stuttered out, and Derek had wondered how long it would take Stiles before he started talking. Derek smiled, pleased and amused, even as he kept his head moving. “You feel so good. Oh gods, so so good.”

Derek let his hand move around to Stiles’ back with a pressing, slow slide, and once it got there it ran down to the bottom of Stiles’ spine, and then further down, down and between, and finally he pressed a finger against Stiles and Stiles stammered above him, chattering nonsense that was then lost on a needy moan. Stiles’ thighs were shaking.

“Derek,” Stiles groaned, “I’m so…m’so close…”

Derek hummed around Stiles’ cock, and swallowed again, heavily and pointedly.

Stiles came, and Derek swallowed it, because he was beginning to find the taste of Stiles addictive.

Wrung out, Stiles collapsed back onto the bed, and Derek climbed up after him. The moment he got there, Stiles reached out for him with purpose, but terrible blissed-out aim, and Derek settled beside him.

Stiles was panting, and staring back at him with wide eyes.

“You have to show me how to do that,” Stiles said. “Just like that, because you need to experience what you just did to me. It’s only fair.”

Derek rolled his eyes, but cannot help but grin, his ego inflating just a little bit. “If you insist.”

“I do insist. I very much insist.”

“And when would you like this lesson?”

“Now,” Stiles said, recovering remarkably quickly in order to manhandle Derek back onto the bed. “Let’s do it now.”

“If you insist,” Derek said again, lifting his hips as Stiles began to tackle getting his leather pants open.

“I do insist,” Stiles replied again.

Well, Derek would be a fool to refuse such an offer.

In the end, he found it rather difficult to instruct or say much of anything when Stiles’ mouth was finally on him. He instructed more through moans and nods and tugs of his fingers in Stiles’ finally-grabbable hair.

Stiles’ mouth was sinful and perfect, and Derek found himself unsurprised that Stiles picked up technique with ease.

He looked down to see Stiles watching his reactions closely, and the moment that Stiles saw him watching, Stiles pulled away to lick a long stripe up Derek’s cock before taking him back into his mouth, and Derek produced a groaning-growl, collapsing back on the bed. It did not take him long to come. He gave Stiles warning but Stiles swallowed around him, and then appeared in Derek’s eye line, hovering over him and licking his lips and looking smug, and Derek shoved him so that Stiles fell onto the bed beside him, laughing.

“How did I do?” Stiles asked with a pleased grin.

Derek took hold of Stiles’ golden collar to pull him in, and kissed him thoroughly, tasting himself on Stiles’ tongue.

“You did ok,” Derek allowed, speaking into Stiles’ mouth with a smirk.

“Ok?” Stiles pulled back, faux-affronted, “Please, I just blew your mind.”

“Cocky, much?” Derek said, pushing Stiles about until he had Stiles positioned against him on the bed.

“Pushy, much?” Stiles countered, settling onto Derek’s chest, his arm across Derek’s body, and Derek liked how securing that felt.

They lay like that together for a little while, regaining breath and enjoying the quiet companionship, until Stiles spoke, “You were pretty grumpy yesterday, Sour Wolf. What was the matter?”

Derek tensed. He had been in a terrible mood the day before. He had been snappish, and angry, and not even training had released the tension. But he had had good reason.

“I hadn’t slept well,” Derek said.

Stiles moved his head to look up at him, but Derek avoided looking back. “What kept you awake?”

“I had a dream,” he finally decided to admit, staring up at the ceiling, “A couple of them, actually.”

“What were they about?”

Derek saw flashes of the dreams in his mind, and he knew that if he looked at Stiles then, that he would see those images reflected on Stiles’ face.

“You.”

“Me?” Stiles gave a laugh that sounded nervous, “And they were really so bad?”

“No,” Derek said, remembering both dreams in vivid detail, “One of the dreams was beautiful.”

“And the other?”

He swallowed, “Not so.”

Derek felt the backs of Stiles’ fingers trace his cheek, “Tell me.”

He finally glanced at Stiles and found him watching him.

“You can tell me, Derek,” Stiles said.

Derek took a deep breath, and reminded himself that he _could_ tell Stiles. That he had someone who he could share these types of things with, now.

“In the first dream, I was free and you were free. We were all free. A pack.”

“Well that sounds nice.”

“But you weren’t human, anymore.” He watched Stiles’ reaction, but Stiles just looked back at him steadily, waiting for him to continue. “You were a Were. Your eyes were yellow.”

Stiles shifted. “Was I your Beta?”

“Yes. But I don’t remember much else other than that, other than you and the feeling of freedom.”

“How did the eyes suit me?”

Derek started. It was the last thing he had expected Stiles to say, but he should have known better than to be surprised at Stiles’ ease. Stiles did not see Weres like most other humans were socially conditioned to do. Stiles was only watching him slyly, clearly fishing for a compliment.

“They suited you,” Derek confirmed.

And they really had. Stiles’ amber-brown eyes had heated to a bright amber-yellow, and it had been beautiful. In Derek's dream Stiles had been a supernaturally beautiful and strong Were. He had been quick, cunning, and his yellow eyes had made him look even more mischievous and defiant, and warm, more fox-like than wolf.

It had been a long time since Derek had had a dream that had bordered on a happy one, but after that first dream, the second one had started, as if to remind him that freedom was long way away and not achievable for everyone, if anyone, he cared for.

As though feeling the shift in Derek’s mood, Stiles asked, “And what about the other dream?”

“You were a Were again, but we were here.”

Stiles was quiet for a moment. “You mean I was a Gladiator?” he asked eventually.

“Yes,” Derek replied uneasily, “And your eyes weren’t yellow. They were blue.”

The bright ice-blue eyes had looked more unnatural in Stiles’ face than the yellow. Those eyes had reminded Derek of how blue his own Beta eyes used to be, before he got the blood-red eyes of an Alpha. He had been the only one of his siblings and cousins to have blue Beta eyes. Him and Peter, the only two of the Hale pack to have those ice-blue eyes. Derek had hated them at first, because they had not been like everyone else’s, and as a young Were that had struggled with control, he had felt like a disappointment to his pack and family. But Peter had told him that the blue eyes made the two of them different, and that was special, and his mother had sat him down and told him that his blue Beta eyes were beautiful, just like he was. When he had looked at Stiles in his dream, he had understood how those blue eyes could be beautiful. But those blue eyes had also been sad, and so very angry.

“You were a Gladiator like the rest of us, but you weren’t you. You were removed, kept yourself isolated from everybody else. You were unhappy, and you had this burning anger that I sometimes see in Peter.”

“But they were just dreams,” Stiles reminded him, his eyes definitely not yellow, and definitely not blue. They were their beautiful human shade of amber-brown.

“They made me think, of what might have happened if Peter had attacked you rather than Scott that night, or you rather than Lydia last week, of what might have happened if you had become a Were. Kate has such power over us, that I can’t even begin to imagine what she would do if she ever discovered the two of us,” Derek paused, took a breath, “We have some kind of death-wish doing this, don’t we?”

“Worth it,” Stiles dismissed immediately, and grinned.

Derek rolled his eyes, secretly relieved that Stiles still thought so, “That’s what you think.”

“Oi!” Stiles protested, punching Derek lightly in the arm, “You were the one that plotted all this here, so don’t think you can fool me, big guy.”

Derek huffed a laugh and pushed himself up, bundling a small pile of blankets behind him before leaning back on them. Before he could pull Stiles up with him, Stiles had decided to settle himself between Derek’s legs, resting his soft-spiky haired head back on Derek’s shoulder.

Stiles took hold of Derek’s arm and hauled it around him, tracing absently over the Argent family crest, branded onto the underside of Derek’s forearm.

“She doesn’t own you Derek, she doesn’t own me. She can on paper, and on our skin, but she doesn’t own us.”

“I know,” Derek said, even as his brushed his own hand lightly over the brand on the small of Stiles’ back, “I know she doesn’t. But with our brands, and the fact she can literally do anything she likes to us, it is sometimes easy to forget it.”

Stiles hummed thoughtfully, “Speaking of which, there is something I have been meaning to tell you.” He said hesitantly. “About why she might have had Scott attacked.”

Derek pressed his nose into Stiles’ hair and breathed in the scent of him, and Stiles’ fingers continued their dance up and down Derek’s arm.

“You can tell me,” It was his turn to reassure Stiles, “It won’t leave these four walls.”

“I know,” Stiles said. Even so, it took a minute or so before he said, “I think – and Scott thinks – that Kate might have suspected that something was going on between Scott and Allison.”

Derek stilled. It had not been at all what he had expected Stiles to say. “Going on as in, sexually?”

“Sexually, romantically…”

“And are they?”

“Yes. They are in love with each other. They have been since we were young. I know what you are thinking; Peter’s orders were to turn Scott _or_ kill him, Kate didn’t care. I think she only suspected something, because if she knew all of it, she would have had him killed, I’m certain of it.”

Derek did not really know what to say. “Wow.”

“Yeah. These are the types of secrets I have to put up with. Plus, there’s more…”  Derek heard Stiles swallow, before saying “Allison knows that Kate ordered Scott’s attack. She doesn’t know it’s Peter…” Stiles told him in a rush, which effectively halted Derek’s building moment of panic, “Allison just figured out that the rogue Were attacks have been rather convenient for Kate, and Scott’s worried Allison is going to confront her Aunt about it.”

Stiles was curling tighter into Derek’s arms, and Derek squeezed them around him, “Whatever happens we will figure it out.”

“Ok,” Stiles wheezed, tapping Derek’s arm, “Whatever you say, as long as you stop squeezing me so tight.”

“Oh, sorry,” Derek said sheepishly, loosening his hold, “I forget my own strength sometimes.”

“Hey, hey, don’t apologise for the muscles,” Stiles tilted his head to look up at him, and Derek knew that Stiles was more worried about the Scott-Allison situation that he was letting on, but when Stiles smirked and said, “I happen to appreciate the muscles.” Derek did what Stiles wanted him to do, and leant down with a roll of his eyes to kiss him.

***

Allison had sizzled in burning anger for a good few days before she had decided that she could not take it anymore. She had tried very hard to keep her outrage at bay. But then her Aunt had invited her to the Ludus for some ‘Aunt-Niece bonding’ time, which in the Argent family normally meant chatting over weapons training.

She had travelled to her Aunt’s house alone, and she was glad of it, because she had not dared to tell her mother or father about what she suspected –what Scott had hinted – that her Aunt had been the one behind the rogue Were attacks. Since the idea had set its roots in her mind, Allison had done some research and made some inquiries, and the more she had looked into the rogue attacks, the more she became certain that her Aunt had at least been lying about them. But what reason would her Aunt have to lie, unless she was the one pulling the strings?

Allison knew that even if she tried to keep her suspicions to herself that they would inevitably burst out of her in a storm of fury anyway. She knew that she would rather be in control of the situation and confront her Aunt on her terms, but even the thought of _that_ was pretty terrifying.

“Allison, darling, you are late,” Kate chided, once Allison had arrived and was led to her by Matt, one of her Aunt’s house slaves, “We are going to have to extend our session.”

Allison tried so hard to swallow down the words that began to boil to the surface, but on seeing her Aunt it made her angry all over again.

The moment that they were alone, Allison said “Any further news on the rogue Were?”

“No, nothing more.”

“What about the hunting parties that you organised? Did they find nothing?”

“No,” Her Aunt said, “They have not found anything. Shall we go to the training rooms?”

“Do you not think that strange, Aunt? All I have ever been taught of rogue Weres is that they aren’t particularly calculating, and that they are slaves to their animalistic natures. But this Were has only attacked a small number of people and has gone into hiding inbetween. That does not make sense to me.”

“As you say, Allison, Weres are animals. Their behaviour can be unpredictable when they are not put into line.”

“That is one theory,” Allison said, her fury glowing hot, “Another theory is that this Were is not at all rogue and is being sent out by someone to do their bidding, which would explain the focused attacks.”

“But that would suggest that we were the enemies of whoever is controlling the Were, after the attacks of Scott and my Lydia.”

“There is that, but seeing as there have only been three attacks…”

“Three attacks? I told your father of the others…”

“There is absolutely no evidence of those others.” Allison glared. “The three confirmed attacks are Scott, Lydia and the slave boy that was killed.”

“Allison,” Her Aunt’s voice held a distinct tone of warning, “I hope you are not calling me a liar.”

Allison breathed an angry, shuddering breath that was little too close to the verge of tears for her liking, “I am…I am calling you a liar.”

She had never seen her Aunt look as angry as she did in that moment. “Explain yourself.”

“There is no evidence of the other attacks that you told father about! After you hired or paid a Were and sent it after Scott, father asked too many questions. If there weren’t any more attacks, it would have looked suspicious, like a targeted attack, and that would potentially have come back to you. So you told father there had been more attacks, even though there hadn’t, and when father was suspicious because he had not heard of any of the attacks, you organised that slave boy to be attacked, because then either father would believe there really was a rogue Were, or that there was a political opponent targeting their enemies. You then wanted to ensure that suspicion wasn’t turned back to you, so you set up an attack on one of your own slaves so that any doubt could not be aimed at you, because it would look like you and your household were victims, rather than perpetrators.”

Her Aunt was watching her with a hard stare. When Allison had finished talking, her Aunt gave a harsh laugh and picked at her nails, sitting back in her seat and crossing her legs nonchalantly.

“That is a damning, and well thought-out accusation there, Allison dear,” Her Aunt said, and it sounded poisonous, and Allison realised she was seeing her Aunt through entirely different eyes now. Eyes that saw her for what she truly was. “There is only one tiny flaw in your explanation of my so-called ‘motives’,” Her Aunt looked at her with narrowed eyes, “Why would I organise an attack on Scott in the first place? That makes little sense.”

Allison stopped, mouth hanging open for a moment. Her heart leapt in her chest.

“It doesn’t make sense, does it?” Her Aunt asked again, faux-innocent. “Unless you think there would be a reason I would want Scott harmed?”

Her Aunt was trying to trap her, Allison realised. She could not let her trap her. It would put Scott in danger. As righteous at it had felt calling her Aunt out for something Allison was increasingly positive was true, she also regretted saying anything, because she had potentially just made an enemy of her Aunt, and put Scott back in the spotlight again.

Allison knew, against her conscience, that she would have to appease the situation. She had to backtrack, and do it fast.

“You are right Aunt, I am sorry. It was foolish of me…I am just trying to figure out the loose ends and I am tired of our slaves being caught in the crossfire.”

“So of all the potential causes of the rogue Were attacks, you decide to accuse me?” Her Aunt’s voice was still hard and unforgiving, and it was clear that her Aunt was not going to let her back out so easily. “You accuse your own Aunt? A fellow Argent?”

“I am sorry, Aunt,” Allison said again, “Forget I said anything, I was jumping to silly conclusions. I hoped to practice my archery today,” She said, desperate to change subject and cautiously plucking at the case that housed her bow and arrows, “Will you join me?”

“I think that we should postpone for today,” Her Aunt said, icily, “Don’t you?”

“If you, yes, ok, if that is what you wish.” Allison gathered up her things, eager to retreat, “Another day?”

“Oh yes, another day,” her Aunt waved her off, “I will send a message for you.”

“Thank you,” Allison said, both relieved at her Aunt’s words and disturbed by the tone of her voice, “I am sorry, Aunt.”

“I will forgive you, Allison, in time. You will come to see the truth of it, I know it.”

***

Two days later, Lydia went to bed feeling optimistic. She had had a good couple of nights; she had slept lightly, but there had been no nightmares, no wandering, and no screaming on waking. It had been a relief to see her fellow house slaves tiptoe around her less. It had been a relief to see the bags of sleeplessness under their eyes begin to dissipate. Lydia had always been confident and independent…well…as confident and independent as a born slave could be. She despised having to be babysat and constantly watched over, and she hated that her friends were largely doing it to make sure that her unusual unconscious behaviour was not brought to the attention of the Domina. She hated that the lives of slaves meant so little to her Domina that she would see Lydia as a problematic burden if she ever found out, and would likely discard her, even after years of Lydia’s service.

Lydia did not even think her nightmares were about the attack. She remembered very little of that night. She remembered the Domina sending her and Stiles out of the house to go and get more sugared plums from the supplier, and that was it. She did not remember reaching the shop, going into the alley, being confronted by the rogue Were, or being clawed into. She did not remember any of it, she did not even remember her nightmares, and as someone who relied very much on her quick intelligence, she did not like her memory failing her like it was.

She also did not like having been parted from Jackson for so long. She had not seen him in weeks, since before the attack. She wanted to see him so badly, because she knew that he would make her feel better. The sight of him, the warmth of his arms, his soft words, the beauty of his smile and of his heart, would make her feel better. But in her current state, it had been decided between her, Stiles and Danny that she should wait for improvement before trying to sneak down into the Ludus. It had been for the best.

But the last couple of nights had been relatively uninterrupted, and the best she had had since the attack. If her nights continued like that, then she would be able to see Jackson, she would be able to go to bed and when she recovered enough to return to her chores then she would go about her day without her friends hovering around her with their good-intentioned concern. She would also be able to properly continue her reading and writing lessons with Stiles and Kira.

She went to bed optimistic.

But then sleep took her.

She saw nothing at all, and yet, so many terrible things in the darkness.

And then she was standing in a cold, stone room, a pile of chains lying around her feet.

She saw the full moon. It was big and bright and it made her skin tingle and feel too tight. She saw a knife glinting in the moonlight. There were cuffs around her wrists, and the knife was not in her hands, but in someone else’s. She saw yellow eyes, and fangs and claws. She saw Scott.

And she woke up screaming.

“Hey, hey,” She heard a voice hushing her, “Come on Lydia, come on, you’re alright, you’re with us, Stiles and Kira.”

She started, her chest heaving, and finally the forms of Stiles and Kira came into her vision.

“Stiles,” She gasped, grabbing for his arm, “I saw something! I saw something terrible! Something bad is going to happen. I saw the full moon and chains and a knife...Something bad is going to happen, I know it! I saw Scott and…”

“Shh, shh,” Stiles wrapped her in his arms and his fingers began stroking through her hair. “It’s alright.”

“Stiles, you have to believe me!”

“I do, I do believe you. And you do too, don’t you Kira?”

Kira took her hand, “We believe you, Lydia.”

She did not think that they did. She thought that they were appeasing her. But this was the first nightmare she remembered, and it had been so vivid, and surely that meant that it meant something.

“We have to do something,” was all she could whisper.

“We will,” Stiles promised, “We will deal with it tomorrow, and we will figure something out. Right now you just need sleep.”

Lydia nodded, feeling more exhausted than she had in days, “Tell me again about your lesson with Deaton.” She asked. She had made Stiles recall all he had learned with Deaton twice already, but she asked again.

“Ok, ok I will,” Stiles said, and he talked. He recounted Deaton’s lesson once again for her, until, eventually, she fell back to sleep.

And once she fell asleep again, she forgot about the stone room, the full moon, the chains and the knife. And because in the morning, she did not mention it again, neither Stiles nor Kira had thought about it much more than it just being a nightmare. But it was a nightmare that was about to become very, very real.

***

The full moon came again, and Allison’s parents and Aunt organised a hunt to track down the rogue Were, or at least protect the city’s civilians, and Allison had to pretend like she thought that it was a good idea. She had to pretend to wish her parents luck as they headed out in their hunting gear, because she knew in her heart that there would be nothing for them to track, and nothing for them to find. Nothing to kill or protect people from. She had to pretend to be fine with the fact that her parents had deemed her still too inexperienced to handle such a brutal Were, and sent her to stay at her Aunt Kate’s house with her Aunt, who was unable to leave her house on a full moon, with it being the duty of Ludus owners to be extra vigilant with their Gladiators and households on full moons.

Her parents thought they were protecting Allison by not allowing her to stay home alone with the family slaves. They thought they were protecting her by putting her in her Aunt’s more impenetrable and guarded house for the night. They could not have been more wrong, but Allison could not tell them, for fear of the truth exploding into the world; the truth about Kate’s hiring of the ‘rogue’ Were, the truth about why Scott was attacked, the truth about Allison and Scott, which would then put Melissa and Stiles in trouble too, because it would be revealed that they had known all along…It did not bear thinking about.

So if she had to put up with an awkward dinner with her Aunt, then she would endure it, for Scott’s sake. But it was so very, very awkward.

Her Aunt acted like she had forgotten all about it in a manner that clearly told Allison she would never forget it. Allison tried not to raise the topic, triple-confirming every single thing she said before she said it to make sure that she did not blurt anything foolish, and it led to a stilted and utterly false conversation. They talked of trivial things, of weaponry and the arena and her Aunt talked of the Argent family’s long and elaborate history of hunting and then owning Weres, and the last point veered a little close into the hinting; that Allison should consider herself an enemy to Weres, including Scott.

Despite the difficult dancing of words at the dinner table, Allison made it through unscathed. She made her excuses, and escaped to her room for an ‘early night’. She sat in her room for two hours, stewing in her miseries, and then feeling terrible for it, because there were far worse ways to live a life than hers. She could be an orphaned house slave like Stiles, or a turned Were and Gladiator down in the Ludus like Scott. But she _had_ lost the company of her best friends, and the boy she loved fought every month just to survive, and her Aunt was most likely the reason for that, and she felt that she did have a right to feel absolutely wretched about it.

She was debating the probabilities of success and failure in sneaking out to find Stiles without her Aunt finding out, when there was a light knock on the door. She spun around, her heart leaping as she was startled from her thoughts.

“Come in,” She called.

Her Aunt came into the room, and Allison was disappointed; she had hoped it would be Stiles.

“Allison,” Her Aunt said, seemingly surprised, but probably not in the least, “I was just checking in on you but you are still up. I thought you were having an early night.”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Oh,” Her Aunt paused, and then said, “I was thinking about what we talked about at dinner, about how important strong relations are in a family like ours. And I don’t want us to fall out.” She looked thoughtful for a moment, and then smiled excitedly with all the fun, rebellious charm that Allison had once found daring and admirable. “Hey, you wouldn’t fancy having that lesson on hunting that we missed out on the other day, would you? It might help you sleep later on, and it would be lovely to have some company.” It sounded genuine, and it sounded like an olive branch. Although Allison did not want to take it, to accept would artificially mend some of the cracks that had formed, and would ultimately take the heat off of Scott.

Allison stood, “I would like that.”

Her Aunt smiled again and reopened the door. She paused in the doorway until Allison reached her, and then led her down the corridor.

They went to a wing of the house that Allison was very familiar with; stone floors, stone walls, rooms dedicated just to training with weaponry. It was a wing shut off when her Aunt had guests or parties, but Allison had spent many hours there training.

Her Aunt stopped at one of the doors on the corridor, and pushed it open. “After you.”

Allison walked in, and then froze on the spot. She instinctively backed up a couple of steps and crashed into the unmoveable form of her Aunt.

“What…what’s going on?” Allison gasped.

“I told you,” her Aunt said. The amiable voice of peace from only minutes before was gone. “A lesson on hunting.”

Allison stared in horror at where Scott was chained up to the wall by his wrist, and the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stood on end.

“I don’t understand.”

“That’s a shame, darling, because it really is something I was hoping you would make clear for me,” Her Aunt said.

Allison met Scott’s eyes, and the boy she loved stared right back at her, his usually soft and happy brown eyes big and afraid. He was still in human-form, because his collar was still on, and he was huddling as far into the far wall as he could, sitting on the floor with his arms wrapped around his knees.

“What are you doing with Scott?” Allison demanded, feeling the building of protective fury as she spun on her heel to glare at her Aunt. “It is the full moon. He is supposed to be down in the Ludus. They are allowed to change on the full moon.”

“And he is going to. Right here,” Her Aunt said, her gaze steady and unforgiving, “With you and me.”

Allison looked back at Scott, and he was shaking his head, pushing himself even further back against the wall. “No,” He pleaded, and his voice was quiet and broken and Allison’s heart broke along with it, “No, please, Domina, you can’t.”

“I can, boy. And I will.”

“Why?” Allison demanded, grabbing her Aunt’s sleeve desperately, “Why are you doing this? Let him go back down to the Ludus!”

“ _Why_?” her Aunt laughed at her, “Why do you think I am doing this, Allison?”

“I don’t know. But he was a favourite house slave of my parents and when Father hears about this he will be furious that you have not kept to the agreement against mistreatment of Scott and Stiles…”

“But your father isn’t going to hear about it, unless you want him to know just how close of ‘friends’ you and Scott really are.”

Allison’s heart was suddenly in her mouth. Her Aunt did know. “I don’t know what you are talking about,” Allison forced out, but it did not sound convincing even to her own ears.

“Of course you do,” her Aunt said, “Or else my eyes must have been deceiving me the day that I saw you both in a very cosy embrace in one of the hallways of your Father’s house?”

Allison’s mouth fell open without her permission, and she flicked her gaze to Scott to find him equally dumbstruck and afraid.

“You saw us?” Allison said, knowing that there was no point in denying it, after that. “And so you had Scott attacked for it?!”

“You had been enchanted into the arms of a slave!” Her Aunt spat, “A stable boy, no less! If such a thing were discovered you would be shunned from society. I acted in your best interests.”

“My best interests, to turn him into a Were?!” Allison seethed, “That isn’t in my best interests. That was your best interest!”

Her Aunt just shrugged cruelly, “I didn’t care if he lived or died. Getting a new Were for free was just a bonus.”

“How could you?!”

“Quite easily, really. I was not going to see my niece allow herself to stoop so low.”

“And you didn’t stoop low when you arranged a Were to attack Scott?” Allison shouted.

Her Aunt’s face fell faster than a sack of rocks, and became even stonier. She did not say anything in reply.

Allison glanced to Scott again, and he looked frightened, yet also uncomfortable. He was tugging at the collar around his neck with his free hand like it was too tight, and Allison guessed that his body was starting to feel the effects of not being allowed to change.

“I will buy him,” Allison decided, quietly, but confidently. “I will buy his freedom.”

Her Aunt just laughed at her, “With what money? Your father’s money? Your father would never pay out such a large sum for the likes of a Were. If your father really _truly_ cared about the boy’s life, why hasn’t he paid for his freedom already?”

Allison furiously blinked the tears out of her eyes, hating being so trapped in such an inescapable situation. She knew at that moment, that one way or another, she was going to lose Scott. She was going to lose him.

“It is partially because your father knows that if he paid for the boy’s freedom from the arena now, it would not do a thing of good for Scott. Scott is unknown in the arena, he isn’t popular, he isn’t cared about, because he has not fought for the right to earn the money to buy his freedom. If you or your father bought his freedom now then no-one would know who he was, and he would likely be hunted down again as a rogue Were. He would be sent to the mines, he would be sent back to the arena. This is the kindest thing for him.”

Allison’s lip curled “You have never been the kindest thing for anyone.”

“I am kinder to him than you,” Her Aunt pointed in Scott’s direction wildly, but did not look at him. She had not looked at him once. “You carry on treating him as though he is human, and he needs to learn that he is not.”

“He is still human!” Allison protested, hating how her voice broke and wobbled on tears. She looked at Scott, the boy she loved. The human she loved. “He is still human!”

“No,” Her Aunt wagged her finger at her, cold and unmoveable, “No he is not. And I am going to show you that, because you have not seen them up close. You need to learn.”

With that, her Aunt marched towards Scott, grabbed his collar roughly in her hand, drawing him up onto his knees, and she lifted a string of keys from around her neck, before unlocking his collar and tossing it aside. She then lengthened the chain that attached Scott to the back wall as Scott pleaded with her.

“Please, Domina, please don't…”

She resolutely ignored him. Allison didn’t.

Allison rushed forwards and took Scott’s face desperately into her hands.

“Scott, it’s ok, it’s going to be ok,” She managed, before her Aunt wrenched her back by the arm.

“Are you insane, girl? This is only his fourth full moon, he has absolutely no control over his animalistic instincts.”

But Scott wasn’t changing. “I am not an animal,” He insisted desperately, and his face stayed human, and his eyes stayed brown. “I’m not a monster, Allison, I’m not.”

“Let me go!” Allison struggled in her Aunt’s grip.

Her Aunt dragged her towards one of the shuttered windows and threw the wooden panelling open, so that moonlight shone directly into the room. Allison heard, rather than saw Scott stagger backwards from the sound of his chain dragging across the floor.

She turned to look at him and he was pressed back into the far corner of the room, his eyes fixed on her, even as he flinched under the direct light from the moon. But still, he kept resolve and stayed human.

“Please, stop,” He begged her Aunt, but her Aunt did not listen.

“Losing control of your humanity, Were?” Her Aunt asked him.

Scott frantically shook his head, “Not in front of Allison, I would never hurt her.” His eyes slammed shut and he muttered over and over, “I won’t change. I won’t.”

Allison looked to her Aunt to find her staring right back, as though she scarcely could believe it. Her Aunt whispered something like ‘Anchor’ under her breath, as though it was a disgusting word, and before Allison could stop her, her Aunt had lurched forwards, grabbed Scott by the shoulder, and was plunging something into his neck.

Allison screamed, until she realised that it was a needle, and she rushed forward, even as her Aunt moved quickly away once the needle was out of his neck.

Allison halted in her hast towards Scott, when he jerked sideways, hissing through his teeth. His chained hand flew to his neck, and he snarled towards her Aunt, twitching and staggering.

“Scott?” Allison whispered.

And then Scott looked at her, and his eyes were yellow. And his face was changed.

He flew forwards so fast that Allison had to run backwards, and he did not stop until he had reached the extension of his chain, and even then he carried on, until he was yanked back fiercely by the cuff on his wrist.

Allison pressed back against the wall and stared at him in horror, “What did you do to him?” She asked her Aunt.

Her Aunt ignored her. “Do you see what he is?” She asked her, “He is an animal. This is what he truly is, this is his instinct now. He would attack you before he would protect you. This is what he is.”

Scott growled at them, and lashed out with his free arm, claws extended. He moved his head with an unnatural animalistic motion, cocking it to the side and watching them like a predator would watch prey.

She looked down in horror as she felt metal being pressed into her palm, and found that her Aunt had pushed a knife into her hand.

“For your protection,” Her Aunt said, “You will need it.”

Allison almost dropped the knife. It felt like it was burning her palm, but she did not let it go. She did not know what to do. She did not know how to save Scott from her Aunt. She did not know how to save herself. She needed her Aunt to leave Scott alone, and that was never going to happen if her Aunt still believed that Allison loved Scott.

And then she realised, that to save Scott, she would have to make a sacrifice. It would hurt, so very badly, but if it meant keeping Scott out of her Aunt’s wrath then she would do it. She would do it because she loved him.

She gripped the handle of the knife tighter, as she stared into yellow eyes that did not seem to recognise her. She needed to be brave.

She stepped forwards, “Scott,” She said, more confidently than she felt. “Scott, can you hear me? Do you recognise me?”

Scott’s head cocked to the other side, but otherwise there was nothing.

“It’s me. It’s Allison,” She said, taking another step. “You know me.”

Scott lashed out at her with his claws.

“No,” she said, “Please. You must remember me, Scott, you have to remember me, please. You aren’t an animal, remember? You aren’t an animal."

She took another step, and Scott took another swipe. She had to duck quickly out of the way.

“Scott, please?”

A low snarl was building up in the back of his throat.

“Scott?” She whispered.

And then he launched forwards again.

Allison rushed backwards into the wall, her chest heaving, the knife slipping from her fingers.

“He doesn’t know me,” She whispered.

“He is a slave to his instincts, as I told you,” her Aunt said, but more gently than before. “The animalistic nature rules over any humanity he once had.”

“He isn’t Scott. That isn’t Scott.”

“No.”

“That isn’t Scott. That is…” She took a shuddering breath, “That is an animal,” she ended on barely a breath.

“I have been trying to tell you…”

“Let me leave, Aunt, please. I can’t…I can’t stay here,” Her voice rose from whisper to loud pleading, bordering on hysterical, “I don’t want to be near him. I have to leave. Please.”

“I just wanted you to understand.”

“I do. I understand.” She clutched at her Aunt’s sleeves, “I don’t want to see him anymore. Let me leave.”

She looked up at her Aunt with tear-filled eyes, and her Aunt was smiling at her, with a genuine, slightly triumphant smile. “I feel like you have learned your lesson.”

Allison glanced back at Scott, and although he was still at the full-reach of his chain, he was not lunging anymore. He was standing still, watching her, listening to her voice as though confused.

“You have made your point,” Allison said, and her voice shattered. The first tear fell.

“Then you may go.”

Allison edged along the wall towards the door, before flinging it open, and fleeing from the room.

She ran down the corridor as tears ran down her face. Her heart was torn in two. She had put on a good performance. She just hoped that it had been good enough.

***

Scott shuddered at the sound of Allison’s upset voice, but could not pinpoint where it was coming from. It sounded distant, far away.

“That isn’t Scott,” he heard her say, “That is…that is an animal."

Why would Allison say that? She would never say that about him. She loved him. She did not think he was an animal, a monster. He wasn’t an animal.

“Let me leave, Aunt, please. I can’t…I can’t stay here,” She was pleading, and Scott flinched at the sound of it, of knowing she was upset, and knowing that it was somehow because of him. “I don’t want to be near him. I have to leave. Please.”

He didn’t understand why she would say that.

His wrist was hurting. He looked down and was surprised to see that claws were extended from his fingertips. He startled. He was in Beta form? How? When? Where was Allison?

He looked up and she was right there before him.

Allison wasn’t looking at him, she was looking at Kate. “I don’t want to see him anymore. Let me leave.”

Scott’s heart wrenched in his chest, and he could feel it split. Surely she did not mean that? He looked back down at his wrist, and wondered why it had been bleeding. He looked back at the wall, and realised that he was chained up. Chained back. Chained away from Allison.

Oh gods, had he tried to hurt her?

Allison left the room with such speed and with such upset in her eyes that Scott’s cracking heart shattered all the way through, and the remaining pieces left out the door with Allison.

He struggled to gain control, his efforts slipping with the thought of Allison gone, of Allison seeing him, hating him. But finally he willed the claws to withdraw, and he felt like he could breathe again.

“Allison!” He shouted after her, “Allison, come back! Please! I’m sorry I don’t know what I…I don’t know what’s happened! Allison!”

He fell to silence. He did not look at Kate as she moved to stand before him.

“She doesn’t love you anymore, boy. She cannot bring herself to love an animal.”

And then she left, leaving Scott alone in the bare, stone room. She shut the door. Scott fell to his knees and sobbed, the full moon bathing him and the room in a cold blue light.

***

By the following afternoon, all the house slaves had heard what had happened the previous night with Kate and Allison and Scott.

Stiles had listened to Matt recount it with his heart hammering with anger, fear and upset within his chest.

He did not understand Allison’s reaction. She loved Scott, more than anything and anyone else in the world. She would never have seen him as anything other than the boy she loved. Stiles knew both Allison and Scott and their resilient love well enough to be adamant of the fact. But that was apparently what had happened; Scott had been in Beta form and had reacted badly to direct full moonlight and had launched himself at Kate and Allison. Stiles’ heart broke and crumbled for Scott. His best friend must be in pieces, his morale completely and utterly shattered. He wanted to go down to the Ludus and see him, to comfort him, to be there for him, but he couldn’t. It was daytime and he had chores to do, he had pots to wash. He would be caught out trying to get down there to see him.

And there was even more to his concerns than just Scott and Allison. Matt had told him of the training room Scott had been chained up in, and the knife that he had found the following morning on the floor, and Stiles could not help but think of the nightmare Lydia had had several nights before, where she had warned him and Kira of those exact things; the full moon, chains and a knife, and that she had seen Scott. But the next morning, when Lydia had not mentioned it again, Stiles and Kira had assumed it just to be a part of a nightmare. But it had turned out that her warnings had been accurate, but how could that be, because how in the hells could Lydia have been able to see that, days in advance? It had to be some kind of terribly uncanny coincidence.

Stiles had Scott to worry about, he had Allison to be concerned about, he had Lydia and her nightmares to puzzle about, and so Stiles was miserably washing pots with a little too much force, banging and crashing them around in the large basin.

“Stiles.”

Stiles jumped, attempted to catch the pot he dropped, missed, and watched it crack against another. He felt mildly satisfied about it, because fuck Kate and her plates, before turning around, drying his hands on the apron he was wearing.

Kira was standing in the middle of the kitchen.

“Kira,” Stiles said, plastering on a smile that was far brighter than he felt, “What can I do you for?”

“I have something for you.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow, “Oh? What’s that then?”

Kira shifted, her eyes darting around the kitchen, and she glanced over her shoulder at the empty doorway before she moved closer, her voice low as she said, “I was just cleaning the room that Lady Allison stayed in last night. And I found this inside one of the pillowcases…” Kira reached out and grasped Stiles’ hand, pushing something into it.

Stiles looked down to see a folded piece of paper, with his name scrawled across it in Allison’s handwriting.

Stiles looked up at her. “Did you read it?”

“You have taught me to read,” Kira said, with a coy smile, “So I know it’s addressed to you. So no, I did not read what was yours to read.”

“Thank you.” He smiled back at her and eagerly unfolded the paper.

Inside, only three words were written, but they meant everything, and Stiles clutched the paper to his chest.

 _I love him._ It said.

Allison still loved him – still loved Scott. And that meant that her rejection of Scott as a Were the night before, must have been a ruse, which meant that Allison was up to something. She was playing a game; playing a game against her Aunt. She had to be. Allison still loved Scott, and by sending Stiles the note, Stiles knew that she wanted Stiles to tell Scott, she wanted Scott to know.

“Is it good news?” Kira asked him, and there was a look of pleased mischief in her eyes that Stiles was becoming increasingly able to see in her.

He swept her up in his arms and pressed a kiss to her cheek as she giggled, “The best,” He told her, “You are the best. I owe you for this, Kira.”

Kira took a deep breath, and extracted herself from his arms, “Actually, I owe you something. I need to talk to you about something,” She glanced around them again, “But not now. Not here.”

“Later?” Stiles offered.

Kira smiled again, and the bright spark in her eye that had momentarily disappeared from her expression was back. “Later,” She agreed, before slipping away, back to her chores.

Stiles looked back down at the paper in his hands, smiled in pure and utter relief, and tucked it into his rolled-up sleeve.

He turned back to the basin and the two shattered dishes and sighed heavily. For now he would rescue the pots. Later he would rescue Scott and his broken heart.

The note from Allison was a huge relief, and lifted his spirits tenfold, but there was also the knowledge worrying the back of his mind that by attempting to deceive her Aunt, Allison was playing with fire, and Stiles prayed to whatever gods were listening that she and Scott would not get burned.

***

Stiles was eager to pass on Allison’s message to Scott, but was not due to be on serving duties in the Ludus again for several days. He could not let Scott wait that long. Thankfully, the day after Kira gave Stiles the note, Stiles was due another lesson with Deaton.

Deaton’s lesson was interesting, and Stiles did enjoy learning the topics of medicine that were new to him, but now that the initial surprise was over, Derek sat in the room as well during the lessons, and Stiles could not help but become a little distracted. That night was no different, and Stiles could not wait to get Derek in the room alone.

Finally the lesson was done, and Stiles leapt up from his seat immediately, thanked Deaton hastily, and dragged Derek into their room by the arm.

He heard Deaton chuckling behind them, and he knew how it looked, but he could not bring himself to feel embarrassed, because he was not eager to be alone with Derek for the reasons that Deaton thought.

“What is the matter with you tonight?” Derek asked him, bemused. “You seem antsy.”

“I’m not antsy!” Stiles countered, before rethinking, “Well, maybe a little antsy.” He took the note out from where he had been keeping it tied to the inside of his sleeve. “Would you deliver this to Scott please, or at least tell him what it says?”

Derek took the note curiously, and when he glanced up at Stiles with a raised eyebrow, Stiles nodded, allowing him to open it and read it.

He watched Derek’s eyes move quickly over the words, before he neatly folded it up again.

“I heard what happened,” Derek said, “Scott was taken off by the guards on the full moon, and he told the others that Kate had taken him up to the house to torment him, but he only told me what she had tormented him with. He told me everything. But this…does this mean that Allison was only pretending to be disgusted by him?”

“Yes.”

“And did Kate buy it?”

Stiles shrugged, “I don’t know. I think she might have done.”

“If she has, it was a smart move by Allison. If she hasn’t, at least it might have bought everyone more time,” Derek sounded impressed.

“It was at the cost of Scott’s happiness though. I can imagine just how wretched he will have been the last few days.”

“Complete and utter anguish,” Derek said, “Would be a total understatement. He has barely said a word since telling me what happened, and when he did tell me he was practically in tears.”

Stiles frowned unhappily, hating to hear how upset his friend had been, how hurt he had been.

“Allison did it to protect him, and you have to tell him, tell him that she still loves him.”

“I will,” Derek said, tucking the paper into one of the pockets sliced into one of the leather belts that crossed his chest.

Stiles knew how knowing that Allison still loved him would revive Scott. He knew how much thinking that she didn’t anymore must have broken and devastated him. He imagined how he would have felt if he and Derek had been in Scott and Allison’s shoes. He tried to imagine not having Derek to love, and to be loved by, and the thought hurt him more than he could say.  But there was something that he _could_ say. He had known it for some time now, but he had never said it aloud.

So he summoned the words and said, “I love you, you know that right?”

Derek looked at him in mild surprise, but in the next moment he was crossing the space between him and Stiles in a couple of steps, and was kissing him soundly.

Stiles melted into the kiss, lifting his arms to slide them around Derek’s neck, as Derek’s hands found the bare skin of Stiles’ sides under his open shirt.

“I thought that might be the case,” Derek said quietly, when their lips parted. His hazel-green eyes were only centimetres away, and Stiles could see every fleck of colour in them. “But it’s nice to be told for certain.”

Stiles kissed him again, but kept it short, pulling back to check, “You love me too, right?”

Derek’s smile turned into a slow, sly smirk. His shoulders shrugged under Stiles’ arms. “I tolerate you.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Charming.”

Derek chuckled, and he leant forward. He pressed his lips lightly to the corner of Stiles’ mouth. “I love you too, Stiles.”

Stiles had never thought that he would get to know what falling in love with somebody felt like. He had loved his parents, he loved Scott and Allison and Melissa, and he loved his friends here in the house and Ludus, but he had never been _in love_ with somebody. The day he had realised he had fallen in love with Derek had been a heady day, that had felt so much brighter than the ones before. Hearing it there and then from Derek’s lips, that Derek loved him back, made him feel so warm and happy that he doubted he would ever feel quite that way ever again.

“You are so romantic it is sickening,” Stiles grinned, because he was not about to tell Derek about all the fuzzy feelings that had taken residence in his body.

Derek cocked his head, and his eyes scanned Stiles’ face. His lips brushed Stiles’ when he said, “You don’t seem too bothered.”

“That is because I’m not,” Stiles told him, “I’m really not.” before he leaned in to kiss him again.

***

Derek found Scott not long after Stiles left Deaton’s rooms to go back up to the Ludus. He did not have much time to find Scott before the _Wolves’_ cells were locked for the night.

He found him sitting in one of the supply rooms of the bath house, with Isaac. They weren’t speaking, or hadn’t been when Derek walked in. Isaac was just sitting with him, keeping him company. They had all picked up on Scott’s misery almost immediately, but Isaac seemed the most concerned about it, and he had barely left Scott alone since. Derek had never been more grateful for Isaac being such a good person, and for being perceptive of his friends’ moods, and his support and care of them.

The pair of them looked up at him when he stepped into the room. Whilst Isaac’s gaze lingered expectantly, Scott’s eyes only flickered up and back down again.

“Isaac,” Derek said, “Do you think I could get a moment alone with Scott?”

Isaac nodded, immediately getting up. “I will see you tomorrow, Scott.”

Scott made a noise of agreement, sending him a weak smile.

Isaac turned to leave and nodded respectfully to Derek as he passed him on the way out, as though Derek was someone worthy of, and deserving of, Isaac’s respect.

Once Isaac was gone, Derek sat down next to Scott, leaning back against the wall, and leaving enough room between them to allow Scott some space to breath.

They sat in awkward silence for a long moment. Derek shifted uncomfortably.

“Hi Derek,” Scott said finally, glumly.

“I saw Stiles tonight,” Derek said, watching Scott perk up, if only just a little.

“How is he?” Scott asked, because Scott and Stiles always worried about each other.

“He’s ok,” Derek said, still not quite over the feeling that had coursed through him when Stiles had said, only an hour before, _‘I love you, you know that right?’_    
“He heard what happened, and he is worried about you.”

Scott sniffed, pulling his knees up to his chest and burying his nose into them. He didn’t say anything.

“Stiles also asked me to give you this,” Derek took the folded paper out of his belt pocket and pressed it into Scott’s loosened fingers.

Scott’s fingers curled around it slowly. “What is it?” He asked, unfolding slightly in order to look at the paper in his hand. He saw Stiles’ name written on it in Allison’s handwriting.

“This is Allison’s handwriting,” Scott said immediately, looking at Derek in confusion.

“It was found by Kira yesterday morning, hidden in the room Allison stayed in. She passed it to Stiles without reading what it said.”

Scott opened it, and read the words, and Derek heard him take in a shuddering breath.

“I…gods…thank the gods…” Scott’s voice was wobbling and the paper started audibly trembling in his hands. “She still loves me,” He told Derek as he turned to him, his eyes big and shining, and with the most elated smile Derek had ever seen on anybody’s face. “She still loves me, Derek.”

Derek sent a small smile back at him, “She clearly loves you a lot.”

Scott laughed, shaky and relieved and near-breathless, so _happy_.

“We should get back to the cells before someone gets suspicious.” Derek heaved himself to his feet and held a hand out to Scott. “You had best keep that note safe or hidden, though it would be best to destroy it.”

Scott clenched the paper in his hand at the suggestion and glared up at Derek like he was a madman, but he did reach up and clasp Derek’s hand to be pulled to his feet.

Once on his feet, Scott rubbed a hand across the back of his neck sheepishly, “Actually, after everything that’s happened. I probably should destroy it, shouldn’t I?”

“Mmm,” Derek hummed in deadpan agreement, “That would probably be best.”

***

 “What are you so happy about?”

Stiles was pulled from his cheerful daze with a jump. He shook his head and the smile off his face, and looked up at Kira, who was perched on the end of the bed he was sitting on, tracing her finger along the words of a couple of pages Stiles had taken from Deaton ‘for revision’, not stating that it wasn’t him that was going to be learning from them.

“Huh? Oh. Nothing,” Stiles said, not sounding particularly convincing.

“Uh-huh,” Kira did not look like she believed him.

Stiles glanced to the bed beside them, where Lydia was finally sleeping. “I hadn’t realised she had gone to sleep,” He said, instinctively lowering his voice.

“You have only been daydreaming with that daft smile on your face for about fifteen minutes,” Kira told him, “Lydia’s been asleep for about ten.”

Stiles rolled his eyes at the former comment, but at the latter, he frowned. “She is becoming less and less inclined to sleep. It’s not going to make her recovery go any faster. But then I don’t really blame her, for not wanting to go to sleep.”

 “Sleep can be a welcoming thing, or a terrifying one,” Kira agreed, quietly, “Sometimes because the nightmares that wait for us can be as realistic as the horrors we live in real life.”

Stiles glanced at her. There was meaning behind her words, and he did not know what to make of them. He then remembered that the day before she had wanted to tell him something, and this was the first opportunity that they had had a moment alone since.

“Kira, you said yesterday that you had something to tell me…”

Kira shifted awkwardly. She set the papers aside. “Erm, yes, I did.”

“And, are you ok to tell me now?” Stiles asked cautiously, sitting up a little more, “What’s wrong? Are you ok?”

“It’s not about me. Well, yes, it is about me…but I’m not the most important part of it. Well, at least, I don’t think so. You may disagree. It’s just I’m worried and I think I might be able to help, and I don’t want to be right, but I could be, and I don’t know…”

“Kira,” Stiles interrupted, softly, but watched Kira closely, utterly baffled by her nervous rambling. “You can tell me, whatever it is…”

“It’s not about me,” She said again, “Not really. The thing I wanted to tell you was about Lydia.”

Stiles frowned, “What do you mean?”

“I can’t be certain,” Kira said, “I have never heard of something quite like it before, but I think if I’m right it could help us, help her.” She took a breath, “I think I possibly know what might be wrong with her.”

“What?” Stiles leaned forward, “What is it?”

“I think,” Kira paused, “I think Lydia could be a Banshee."

Stiles blinked in absolute bewilderment. He opened his mouth to ask what in the hells a Banshee was, but he never got to say a word.

Lydia sat up suddenly in bed, and she screamed. It was of such a high pitch that Stiles felt his eardrums ring. Where it affected him, Kira seemed to hear it tenfold, because she leapt off the bed like she had been struck by lightning, her hands slammed over her ears.

“Lydia!” Stiles hissed loudly, moving to her immediately, “Lydia, you have to be quiet, Kate will hear you. She’ll hear you!”

As abruptly as she had started screaming, Lydia stopped.

Her eyes, wide and near-deranged, landed on Stiles.

“Stiles!” She gasped, reaching out to clutch his arm like he was a lifeline. “Stiles, I saw something, I saw something terrible...”

“What?” Stiles asked her, hiding his internal panic that she had remembered the attack; remembered Peter. “What is it?”

Lydia’s expression faltered. She looked terrified. “Scott is going to become an Alpha,” She whispered, and Stiles’ world promptly shook beneath his feet and threatened to crumble, “Scott is going to become an Alpha.”


	9. Chapter 9

“Lydia,” Stiles asked urgently, keeping his voice as quiet as his building panic would allow. “Lydia, what do you mean Scott is going to become an Alpha?”

Lydia did not seem to be listening. She was staring off across the room, with a lot of focus for someone who appeared to be staring at nothing.

“I saw the arena, and there was blood on the sands, and I saw Scott, and I saw the red eyes of an Alpha, and I saw a body.”

“But that doesn’t mean it’s real, Lydia,” He said, but then thought about her last prediction and how that had come true, or at least, all the elements she had seen had come to pass. “That doesn’t mean it is all connected,” He corrected.

“I think something bad is going to happen at the next tournament.” Lydia looked at him again, desperately. “I don’t know how or why, but I saw it and it seemed so real, and I am afraid it might come true.”

But that wasn’t possible. Surely it wasn’t possible. Lydia wasn’t able to see the future. And even if she could, her prediction had to be wrong. There would not be a scenario, at any point in the very near future at least, that would end up with Scott becoming an Alpha. Unless…

No. Lydia was not able to see the future. That was not something that humans could do. He didn’t think it was something that anybody could do.

But then...Kira _had_ just said that she thought Lydia could be a Banshee, whatever a Banshee was.

Stiles fell silent, staring at Kira, as Kira took charge in reassuring Lydia and calming her down.

Eventually Lydia fell back to sleep.

“What,” Stiles asked, voice quiet and urgent, “Is a Banshee? Kira,” He said again, more firmly, when she glanced at Lydia and opened her mouth, presumably to protest, “Kira, please. Tell me. What is a Banshee? And how the hells could Lydia even be one?”

“Banshees can hear voices in their heads. They can get visions – hallucinations – of death, peril, or foreboding situations. They can hear voices of other banshees, and the dead and dying, and sometimes have been known to trace a murder with foresight, and can arrive moments after the murder happens; rarely before, though, because Banshees are whisperers of death. But they don’t just whisper. They scream as well. A scream of a Banshee, when screamed with intention, can be used as a weapon, to the point where there are rumours that a Banshee once cracked a human skull with a scream. The less-powerful screams are high pitched and loud, and can often carry at a frequency that means that Weres and Supernaturals like them have been known to hear Banshee screams from miles away. The screams are meant to isolate all other sounds than the sounds of death in a Banshees head, and sometimes,” she gestured at Lydia, who was fretfully moving in her sleep. “Sometimes they scream just because of the horrible things they see when they have a vision, or if they are in danger.”

“But Lydia can’t do all that,” Stiles argued, anxious to prove the theory wrong. If Lydia really could foresee murders and terrible situations, then that did not bode well for Scott. “She has only had a couple of bad dreams.”

“But her last one predicted the future,” Kira said, “And her screams can be of the right frequency. I know the rest hasn’t transpired yet, which is why I don’t know for sure if she is one, or can be one. But she could just be developing. Her full powers might just be emerging one at a time…”

“But she’s human.”

“Unless she had dormant powers. I was wondering whether it could be possible that the rogue Were attack triggered the powers. Maybe the scratches were deeper than we thought, and the effects they should have had reacted differently. I’m not even sure if that’s possible, but Deaton would probably know…”

Stiles feigned confusion, because he had been sworn to secrecy. “Why would he know?”

Kira looked at him with utter surprise, “Because he is a Druid?” She then clapped a hand over her mouth, “I thought you knew,” She spoke softly through her fingers, clearly believing that she had revealed something about Deaton that Stiles didn’t, or shouldn’t, know.

“I do know! I didn’t know you knew!” Stiles paused, and then eyed her with resignation, “What are you, Kira? You have to be something. How else would you know all this about Banshees? Why else would you react like that to the ‘high frequency’ scream of Lydia’s just now? How would you know she has been producing high frequency screams in the first place unless you could hear them?”

Kira barely hesistated, “I’m a Kitsune.”

“Bless you.”

“No, Stiles, I wasn’t sneezing,” Kira’s lips quirked in amusement despite herself, “I’m a Kitsune,” She edged closer to him on the bed, looking thoughtful, “It’s kind of like a fox.”

“A Kitsune?” Stiles repeated, testing the word, confused.

“Yes,” Kira said, patient but apparently nervous too. She was glancing between her fidgeting hands and up at Stiles’ face, cautiously gauging his reaction.  “You won’t have heard of us. The hunters in this country don’t even know that Kitsunes exist. There are vague rumours of warriors from my country with unusual supernatural powers but,” Kira shrugged, “They have no idea what or who we are, or even if the rumours are true. Kitsunes are a secretive race, and the majority of us remain in my home country. My kind are a cultural secret.”

Stiles was watching her with interest, unable to hide his curiosity. “So, what can your kind do? If you are like foxes, are you like Werewolves? Like…Werefoxes or something?” He winced, “Or did I just say something stupidly offensive?”

Instead of being offended, Kira instead looked thoughtful. “We aren’t Were creatures. We don’t transform like Werewolves or Were-Coyotes or Were-Panthers do. We aren’t effected by the full moon. Instead we have a fox-like aura, that Supernaturals with enhanced vision – like Were creatures – can see. It’s shaped like a fox, and it has this,” She paused, looking wistful, nostalgic, “This fiery orange glow. Humans can see it if we allow them to see it. But although we aren’t Were creatures, we do share some Supernatural abilities with them; Kitsunes have accelerated healing, supernatural speed, a weakness to mountain ash, and our eye colour changes, too…”

Stiles leapt on that last comment immediately, “Really? What colour?”

“Orange,” Kira said, “Like our aura.”

And then Kira closed her eyes, and then she opened them. And they were glowing a brilliant orange.

Stiles gaped, pointed at her eyes as if she did not know that they were glowing, and gaped some more. “Of course!” He gasped, “You only have a house slave’s collar. Our collars aren’t made to entrap a Supernatural’s powers.” He frowned at her, bewildered, “You have had access to your powers all this time. Why have you not used them to get away from here?”

“I could have,” She allowed. She looked ashamed, but also terribly sad. “Kitsunes are tricksters. If I had wanted to leave, I could have. But then where would I have gone? I would have been recognised as a slave immediately. Not because of the brand on my back, or for being recognised as a Supernatural, but because of my race. People from my country don’t tend to be free here, they tend to have been brought over as slaves. If I escaped I would have to spend all my life in hiding, and my disappearance would cause Kate to heighten her security on the house and Ludus, which would make it harder for anyone else to escape. I know there are rebellious feelings growing down in the Ludus. I can sense it; the tension in the air is building, and any time now it’s going to erupt. I can sense that kind of brewing chaos. When – not if – the _Wolves_ decide to act on it, I want to rebel with them, and I want to escape with them. It would benefit both parties; I would be safer to escape amongst a number of slaves, and I can help them to do it.”

Stiles did not need Supernatural powers to sense the building unrest that Kira had also noticed. He knew that what Kira was saying was the truth; a rebellion was inevitable. But it wouldn’t happen until the _Wolves_ gained some upper hand that would give them a chance at succeeding, and not being trapped like rats in a barrel, or chased down by hunters. They needed a solid, plausible plan. The only problem was finding how to do that.

He voiced his thoughts to her, “The rebellious feeling is definitely there. It’s just planning how to act on it and not get everyone killed in the process. Besides,” He huffed, “The _Wolves_ need to be free of their collars before they leave this place, because taking them off themselves will kill them. And we need keys for that. Derek tries to scout out potential places where they might be kept in Kate’s rooms whenever he is in there, but she is always in there with him, so…” He shrugged, feeling the concern for Derek that had taken permanent residence alongside Scott in his heart, ache uncomfortably, “He hasn’t been able to find anything yet.”

“Well, that was also something I wanted to tell you,” Kira said, eagerly shifting forwards a little, “The night of the full moon and the incident with Scott and Lady Allison, Kate must have been so angry that she dropped her guard a little. I can use my powers to move quite stealthily when I want to, and I was passing her rooms, and her bedroom door was flung open. I saw her lying on her stomach on the floor, half under her bed.”

Stiles frowned. “Under the bed?”

Kira nodded, “I didn’t know what was going on with Scott and Allison that night, I was keeping my distance, and I can normally hear the Weres when their collars are off at full moon, so the sound of Scott just blended in with all the others. But I was wondering, if Scott was in the house that night, and Kate will have had to remove his collar, whether she was getting her keys.”

“From under the bed?"

“Yes. Whenever either me or Lydia have to clean her rooms, she is always present in the room with us as we work; it’s why I have never been able to properly search for the keys’ hiding place before. But if she has been keeping them under the bed, then that makes sense, as we don’t physically have to go under it for any reason, we just sweep under it.”

“It would make sense,” Stiles said, “I wonder if there is a way for any of us to check…”

“If she caught any of us in her rooms without permission we would be in big trouble. Whenever she is out of the house she leaves a guard at her door. But maybe when she next has a party, and is distracted by the guests, I might be able to sneak in and have a look? Now I know where to look, it won’t be like I will be disturbing anything. So she won’t see anything amiss when she returns.”

“It’s a good idea, Kira. It might work.” Stiles’ heart had started hammering, with the thought of a rebellion actually happening, and all of them running to their freedom. “I will speak to Derek, and see if we can formulate some kind of plan?”

Kira nodded. “Just let me know if I can be of help.”

Stiles sat in astounded amazement for a moment, letting the fact that Kira was a Supernatural, and that she had potentially gotten them all a step closer to escaping to their freedom, sink in.

“Do any of the Weres know that you’re a Kitsune?” Stiles asked curiously. “You have served Kate at the arena before, right? The Weres all have their collars off when they fight and they have to look up to the VIP balcony before and after a fight, have any of them ever noticed your aura?”

Kira shook her head, “I stand back on the balcony, and I am relatively good at keeping my aura under control now. I struggled with it at first but,” She shrugged, “I have gotten a lot of practice in the last few years. Besides, the Weres are too preoccupied with the fight for their lives to really notice.”

Stiles nodded, in sombre agreement. He looked at her a bit more, and then said, “So, you have accelerated healing, you are supernaturally fast, you have an aura…” He listed, counting the benefits of being a Kitsune on his fingers.

“We are expert fighters,” Kira added, “Many of us have speciality skills or weapons. Mine is the Katana blade, and any similar sword. There are also many types of Kitsune. I’m a Thunder Kitsune, so I can absorb and create energies, which we call foxfire. But there are others; Celestial, Wild, Ocean, to name a few…and then there are the Nogitsune.”

“Nogitsune?” Stiles frowned, latching onto the word, “What is a Nogitsune?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Oh, ok…” Stiles trailed off, but, like any subject Stiles was told to drop, he found his interest piqued, “But they are a type of Kitsune?”

“A dark form of Kitsune,” Kira allowed his question, but with a dark tone of voice, “We don’t like to count them among our kind. They aren’t like us in that they don’t have their own forms and powers like Thunder or Ocean. They are void creators of chaos that rely on possession to be able to do their bidding.”

“But how do they…”

“Seriously, Stiles,” Kira said, “You aren’t going to meet one, because people in this country don’t even know how to summon them, so it is best that you don’t know. And don’t try to research them either. The less you know the better.”

She sounded serious, so Stiles decided to let it go for now. “Right. Ok. Consider it dropped.” He held up his hands defensively.

Silence descended again.

Stiles glanced at Lydia to check on her, and thankfully she was still asleep. He looked at her face, and how she was frowning, even in sleep, and he found himself wondering again whether it could really be possible that Lydia really had the dormant powers of a Banshee, that had gotten unleashed by Peter’s attack. And if that _was_ the case, then her prophecy about Scott could well be true.

He looked back at Kira, to distract himself from those thoughts.

“So,” He said, again, desperate to keep himself out of his own head and the whirlpool of worry that had begun to form there, “You’re a Kitsune. Lydia could be a Banshee. Deaton’s a Druid. And what’s Matt? A bloody Kanima?”

Kira laughed. She seemed greatly relieved that Stiles was so accepting of the bombshell that she had dropped on him, but honestly, Stiles had been immersed in so much of the Supernatural lifestyle in the last few months, that it did not bother him in the slightest. Supernaturals were fascinating, yes, but they were not frightening. They were people with incredible gifts.

“Matt’s human,” Kira assured him, “Like you and Danny.”

“Oh well, at least that makes three of us,” Stiles rolled his eyes teasingly, “Three boring humans in a house of Supernaturals. And no, I am not including Kate in the human list or the Supernatural list. She belongs firmly in the ‘monster’ category.”

“I’m not arguing with you.”

Stiles smiled, glanced back at Lydia, and said, “I can ask Deaton about the possibility of Lydia being a Banshee, and tell Derek about the keys.” He looked back at Kira, “I will keep your secret. I promise.”

Kira smiled back gratefully. “Deaton knows,” She said, “But none of the Weres, and not Lydia, Danny or Matt. But I think that if you wanted to tell Derek, if you can tell him that I am able and prepared to help them whenever the rebellion comes to a head, then I would be grateful. So long as you think I can trust him.”

Stiles did not know what Derek would say about the vast amount of faith that his fellow Gladiators and the house slaves clearly had in him. He knew Derek did not think himself that much of a leader, or that much of a force, treated by Kate as he was, but this was the second time in the matter of a week that someone had trusted Derek with their greatest secrets; Scott had wanted Derek to know about Scott’s relationship with Allison, and Kira now wanted Derek to know that she was a Kitsune. Derek was more respected than he thought he was, and Stiles knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Derek would take any secret placed in his trust with him to the grave. He was honourable like that.

“You can trust him,” Stiles reassured her.

They quietened again, and Stiles could not help but begin to worry again about Lydia’s dream about Scott. He fiddled with the thin bed sheet beneath him, stealing concerned looks at Lydia, and fretting his bottom lip with his teeth.

His worrying ceased marginally when Kira leant forwards and placed a small, elegant hand over his. “I may be wrong,” She said carefully, “Banshees’ foresight is supposed to be short-term, and there is no way Scott could be made an Alpha – or go up against an Alpha – any time soon. It might just be nightmares, not premonitions.”

But there was still that chance that Lydia could be a Banshee and that it _was_ a premonition, and although Stiles tried very hard not to let it panic him, he did not find himself convinced.

Lydia’s warning ran circles around his head for the rest of the night; _Scott is going to become an Alpha. Scott is going to become an Alpha._ And although Kira’s news about the possible location of the Were collar keys was a reason to have hope, Stiles finally went to sleep that night filled with a terrible dread.

***

“What do you know about Banshees, Derek?” Stiles asked Derek conversationally, flicking through the _Supernatural Lore_ book that Allison had given him, settling back against Derek’s chest, where they sat on the bed in their room off from Deaton’s surgery.

He had already searched the book for mention of Kitsunes, but as Kira had said, he had found nothing of Kitsunes or Nogitsunes anywhere within it. Hunters in this country did not know that they existed. He had taken a breath of relief, but it was short-lived, as he immediately began his research on Banshees. He needed to know if Lydia’s dreams could come true. And if they could, what that would mean for Scott.

“I’ve never met one,” Derek said, and Stiles could feel the words vibrate through Derek’s chest from where Stiles rested against him. “But I’ve heard of them. And I once heard one scream, but mother said it was from a long distance away.” He was looking over Stiles’ shoulder at the book, his arms wrapped loosely around Stiles’ stomach. “Why do you ask?”

Stiles frowned, “I asked Deaton and he said that it could be possible that Lydia could have had dormant Banshee powers, but after the attack and her body fighting off the wounds from another Supernatural, the powers could have been awakened.”

“And why did you think Lydia could be a Banshee in the first place?” Derek asked, sounding a little lost.

“She predicted what happened on the full moon,” Stiles told him, even as his eyes scanned the words on the pages before him, “About Scott and the full moon and the chains and the knife Kate gave Allison to use on him. It was the first nightmare she woke up from and remembered after the attack. And she made a correct prediction.”

“ _First_ nightmare,” Derek picked up immediately, “You mean there’s been more?”

Stiles swallowed, “Just one more,” he said, “Lydia said that Scott was going to become an Alpha.”

“That can’t be right,” Derek said, and Stiles could hear the frown in his voice. “Banshees are supposed to have immediate or short-term foresight, not long-term. There is no way Scott will find himself put up against an Alpha in the arena; the organisers wouldn’t allow it because it wouldn’t make for good sport…” He stopped short and cleared his throat. He shifted and jostled Stiles in his arms as he did so. “Sorry,” He apologised, “But it’s true. And there is no way that he would find himself up against an Alpha in this Ludus, with or without the collars on. We don’t kill our own kind in this Ludus.”

“So you think it might not be true?” Stiles asked hopefully, even as phrases such as _predictive powers_ , _screams of Supernatural frequency_ and _often in sleep_ swam out of the book in front of his eyes. “That Lydia might not be a Banshee?”

“I don’t know,” Derek said honestly, “But I don’t see a scenario in which Scott would become an Alpha any time soon. Why did you think Lydia could be a Banshee in the first place? Because somehow I don’t think you picked up clues from that book.”

“Kira thought she could be.”

“Kira?” Derek asked, and he sounded confused, now. “Why would Kira…”

“She’s a Kitsune,” Stiles saved him his question. He was curious to know if Derek had heard of Kitsunes; if hunters in their country didn’t know, did the Supernaturals?

“Ah,” Derek said, and his chest constricted against Stiles’ back with a sharp intake of breath, “I wondered whether there was something about her. I thought I noticed an aura about her, once. Something different.”

Stiles turned to look at him, “You saw it even with the collar on?”

Derek shook his head, and his hazel-green eyes were watching Stiles closely, “No. There was just one time, during collar-free training on the Ludus sands, and she was serving Kate on the balcony, and I looked up at her and I thought I saw something. My mother told us about Kitsunes; creatures she had once seen from another land. For a long time I thought of them as just a story, because I never saw one. They lived across the seas, far away. I thought I would never meet one.”

“Well you have now.”

Derek hummed thoughtfully, but he was frowning. “I don’t understand why she hasn’t used her powers to escape. Her house-slave collar doesn’t suppress her powers.”

“She says she has sensed revolt in the air, and she is waiting for the revolution. She cannot escape alone because she will be recognised instantly as an escaped slave. She sees strength in escaping in numbers, and thinks she can be of help.” Stiles let go of the book in order to squeeze Derek’s thigh, “Derek, she thinks she knows where the keys might be. She saw Kate on the night of the full moon.”

Stiles heard a startled intake of breath as Derek’s whole body tensed against him, “Where are they?” His voice was low, desperate and weary at the same time.

Stiles knew how Derek had looked in vain at any opportunity to find the location of the keys in Kate’s rooms, but she had always been in the room with him, so his opportunities had been few and far between, and Kate was unyielding of any information. He knew how Derek was tired of it. He knew how Derek hated it.

Stiles also knew that after a long number of days of not asking for Derek, that Kate had most likely called for him at some point in the last couple of days, because Stiles could tell in the expression on Derek’s face.

“Kira thinks they might be under the bed,” Stiles said, quietly.

“Under the bed?” Derek repeated. And then he laughed, dry and bitter, “Oh of course. Of course they are. She fucks me in the bed, all the while knowing that all I want is my freedom, and that the keys to that lie right underneath me. I should have guessed. I should have looked…”

“Hey,” Stiles put the book down on the mattress, losing his page for the Banshee section, but at that moment having more important things to worry about. He turned in Derek’s arms until he was kneeling before him, between Derek’s legs, and ducking to keep the two of them eye-level, despite the fact that Derek was glaring at something across the room that only he could see. “Hey, Derek.” He lifted a hand to place it tentatively at Derek’s neck. “Are you ok? Look at me...please?”

Derek’s angry, burning eyes glanced back at him, and held. “Sorry,” He said, voice tight and hurting, and Stiles swallowed down the hate he felt for Kate.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Stiles told him adamantly, “You have every right to be angry. But Derek, we are a step closer to finding those keys, undoing those collars, and getting all of us the hells out of here. Kira’s right, I have noticed a feeling of unrest since Scott and I arrived here, and I can imagine for a long time before that. A rebellion is coming, I know it is.”

Derek watched him in silence for a moment, his mind clearly working as his alert gaze flickered across Stiles’ face. “All of us will get out,” he said, firmly. “Everyone who wants to go.”

“All of us,” Stiles repeated, “The _Wolves_ that want to join us. The house slaves. Our _pack_.”

Something was changing in Derek’s face. A dawning of determination had worked its way into his eyes and the set of his jaw. “We need to check whether the keys are definitely there.”

“And we need to wait to see if Allison finds out anything about the whereabouts of your sisters,” Stiles said, “And you need to somehow find out how much support a rebellion would have amongst the _Wolves._ ”

The next thing Stiles knew, he was being dragged forwards and kissed heatedly, firmly, proudly.

“I should be surprised at your being a master rebel,” Derek murmured like molten flame against Stiles’ lips, “But I have definitely seen that coming.” He kissed him again, and Stiles moved with him, changing their positions so that he straddled Derek’s legs instead of being knelt between them.  “You and Scott weren’t the beginning of it all,” Derek told him, “But you have been the catalyst that has made it seem possible.”

“Don’t thank us just yet,” Stiles warned, thinking of Scott, and Lydia’s prediction, and of Kate’s many secrets and evils. “It might just be the worst decision ever.”

“You will never be a bad decision,” Derek said.

“Well,” Stiles allowed, feeling his cheeks redden at Derek’s words, “Not to you, maybe.”

“Not to me,” Derek murmured, trailing his lips along Stiles’ jaw. “Never to me.”

***

The _Gibbous Games_ tournament came nearly a fortnight after the full moon at which her Aunt had put a knife in her hand to defend herself against the love of her life. And Allison had had to play along with her Aunt’s intentions; act like she hated Scott, and was afraid of him, and therefore act more eager to become a hunter, as though she was determined to stop others being turned, being changed into ‘monsters’ like Scott had. Allison had, over those two weeks, been both grateful and amazed that her Aunt seemed to believe her performance.

Kate had invited her for training six times, and had each time asked Allison if she wanted to see Scott. Allison had had to shake her head, allow her face to crumple, and refuse the offer. _‘I don’t want to see him,’_ she had had to say, even though she really wanted that more than anything else in the world, _‘I don’t want to see him’._

She hoped that Stiles had found the note that she had left in her room. She hoped that he had passed it on to Scott. She hoped Scott understood that she still loved him, and that everything she was doing, everything she was pretending to be for her Aunt’s eyes, was solely for him and his safety.

But her Aunt was still testing her. She was spending more time in her company, training her more, talking with her more, telling her family stories of legendary hunts.

And now she had invited Allison and her mother to join her in the VIP stand of the arena for the _Gibbous Games._ Allison was disappointed that her father could not be there with her, having chosen work over a day in the arena. She would have felt better with him there. She felt a little trapped, with her mother sitting on one side, and her Aunt Kate on the other, talking about Were training and the fights, and Allison had to join in. Allison’s mother had been thrilled to learn of Allison’s sudden new ‘interest’ in Argent history, and was supportive of Allison spending more time with Kate. Allison’s father had been a little more suspicious about Allison’s sudden change of heart. She had not told her parents about what had happened with Scott, but she thought that her father had probably guessed that something was amiss anyway.

Allison spent many of the fights that day staring towards the sands, but trying not to pay too much attention to the actual fights, distracting herself instead with the running commentary of Bobby ‘Coach’ Finstock to his employer, Harris, further down the balcony.

The _Lupus Ludus_ _Wolves_ had been doing well so far this tournament; none dead so far, but two losses, and the rest all winners. Her Aunt had been rather smug about it. The midday lull was about to begin, with the lower-level Betas fighting it out whilst the audience were more distracted and disinterested, which meant that Scott’s fight would be at any moment, before the Alpha fights began in the afternoon. With each passing fight Allison dreaded Scott’s fight more and more and more, not just because she would have to watch him fight for his life once again, but also because she knew her Aunt would be watching her reactions to the fight, letting it become another test in which she could judge how genuine Allison’s disownment of Scott truly was. It would be a challenge that Allison would face for Scott’s sake.

She was both glad and disheartened that Stiles was not serving Kate that day; her house slaves Matt and Danny flanking her Aunt instead. Now that Stiles had become Doctor Deaton’s apprentice, he was down behind-the-scenes of the holding cells within the arena walls, tending to the _Lupus Ludus_ Gladiators in a recovery room once their fights were over. She missed his presence, but she also did not want him to see the uncaring expression she would have to put on her face during Scott’s fight, even if it was for Scott’s sake, and even if Stiles knew about the game she was playing.

She wondered how Stiles was handling the copious amounts of blood whilst helping the healing Gladiators. He normally felt faint around it, despite his medical theory training with Melissa, and there seemed to be a lot of blood flowing on the sands that day, despite the successes of the _Lupus Ludus Wolves_. She swallowed heavily, scolding herself for even thinking of blood and gore and wounds when Scott would soon be walking out onto the sands. Gods, she hated the feeling of building terror. Her heart was in her mouth.

And then, there he was.

The gate opened on the left side of the sands, and Scott walked out, collarless and squinting in the sudden bright sunlight. She curled her fingers into her palms, and set her jaw, and refused to look at her Aunt, in case she was watching her.

And then the gate opened on the other side of the arena.

“That can’t be right,” Her mother said, sounding baffled, as Scott’s opponent walked onto the sands. “That one is one of Jonah’s Alphas, is it not?”

A moment later, everyone else seemed to realise this too.

“There must be some mistake,” Allison heard Coach say from his spot further down the balcony, “A four-moon and two-fight Beta against an eleven-fight Alpha?”

Allison swore her heart stopped beating in her chest with a horrified shudder. She glanced at her Aunt. Her Aunt looked utterly unmoved.

“Katherine,” Allison’s mother said, “This can’t be right. There must have been a scheduling mistake. You can call it out with the referee.”

“Lady Kate!” Coach shouted down the balcony, and all the VIP Lords and Ladies were looking their way. “Is it a scheduling issue? It will hardly be a fair fight. Do you want to withdraw your Beta?”

Allison felt like she had been doused in ice-cold water, as her Aunt leant back in her seat and settled in with a shrug.

“I call this an action of fate, Coach Finstock,” her Aunt called back, making sure that everyone in the VIP balcony heard her, “The Beta was no product of my choice, purchase or training. He was given to me. He is dispensable. Let us just enjoy the hand that fate has dealt and whatever entertainment this produces, unless Jonah wants to revoke his Alpha from the fight?”

The owner of the _Alpha Ludus_ , and the notorious Alpha champions the _Alpha Pack_ , and also a loyal ally to Allison's Aunt and Grandfather, grinned widely.

“And turn down an easy win? I am not about to withdraw.”

“Christopher is not going to be happy about this, Katherine,” Allison’s mother warned. Although Allison knew that her mother did not care particularly for Scott, Melissa was still within her household, and Allison’s father _did_ care what became of Scott, and she knew her mother took that into account. “He will hold you accountable. I hope he has nothing on you with which to avenge the boy’s inevitable death.”

“Nothing that I don’t mind him sharing, Victoria. I am done with blackmail,” her Aunt said, so only Allison and her mother could hear. “Let us see what happens.”

 _Scott is going to die, that is what is going to happen_ Allison thought frantically. She felt sick. She was gripping the arms of the wooden chair she was sitting on so hard that it hurt. She wanted to scream and shout and demand that the fight be stopped, but that would do Scott no more good than the fight that was about to happen. She fiercely blinked back the tears and found herself truly and utterly without words. She knew that if she tried to speak, nothing would form but sobs.

***

Scott’s heart was thundering wildly in his chest. There had to be some kind of mistake. A Kate Argent-orchestrated mistake. His mouth was dry and his palms were sweating. He fiercely blinked salt from his eyes as beads of perspiration rolled down his forehead and into his eyelashes.

The Alpha with its red eyes stalked towards him across the sands. The Alpha did not even seem to care that he was facing down a Beta. He probably thought it would be the easiest fight he had ever had. He probably was going to jump at the chance for such an easy win; jump at the chance to know he was going to live for another month. Scott didn’t blame him for that. They were all fighting to live another month.

Scott couldn’t blame him.

Even though Scott knew that this Alpha was going to kill him.

He was so very glad that Stiles was locked away in the infirmary cell of the arena and not there to watch it. Gods knew what Stiles would have done if he knew what was about to happen. Scott glanced up at the balcony whilst he still had time to do so. His enhanced vision allowed him to see Kate Argent smirking down at him, and he felt his blood boil in a way he had never felt it before. But it also allowed him to see Allison, staring down at him with wide, shining eyes. She looked horrified and distraught. He could see it, even if Kate could not. And seeing Allison like that; afraid for him but not allowed to reveal it, forever trying to keep him safe, made him feel even angrier. Angry at Kate. He realised that he hated her. He had never hated anybody before in his life. But he hated Kate. He hated her for being a hypocrite and wanting to punish Allison for loving him. He hated her for ordering Peter to attack and turn him. He hated her for tearing him away from his mother. He hated her for treating Stiles so cruelly and for using Derek like she did. He hated her for all she had done. He hated her.

And now she was going to let this happen so that she could watch him die.

And Scott suddenly found an immense determination to fight for his life with everything he had, even if that meant fighting until his very last breath.

He would fight to live. He would fight to live for the people he loved. He would fight just to spite her. He would fight using every ounce of hatred for her that he had.

And he had a lot of that.

The Alpha reached him, red eyes glowing. “I hope you have made your peace with the world, little Beta,” The Alpha said to him in a lowered tone, “I am afraid you will be leaving it soon.”

Scott knew that this Alpha would not hesitate to kill him, because not to kill a Beta as inexperienced as Scott would greatly damage his reputation. But Scott was going to last this out, as long as he possibly could.

“I will stay in it for as long as I can,” Scott replied.

“I like your determination,” The Alpha said as his fangs elongated and he went into Beta-Shift. “Just don’t be disappointed.”

Scott didn’t intend to be. He shifted too, a moment before the alarm sounded to begin the fight.

The first swipe of claws came immediately at his face, and he ducked sharply, spinning away from the attack, as the Alpha followed him, relentless and clearly eager to finish the fight as quickly as possible. Scott kept dodging the attacks, keeping defensive, and unable to dart in for his own counterattacks for the fear of running headlong into death.

The Alpha snarled, “Stop running and _fight,_ ” before surging forwards with renewed anger.

Scott staggered backwards when claws made contact, carving into the meat of his shoulder and bicep with such intensity he could feel the skin part in their wake. Scott gave a wounded howl.

Scott lashed out automatically, in an attempt to protect himself, but received a shallow graze on his chest for the trouble. He was hit hard in the side of the head and was sent stumbling.

He moved back again, needing distance and time to recover, scarcely able to catch his breath, and begging himself not to verge over into breathless panic.

The Alpha lurched at him again, aiming for his head his time with one clawed hand, as the other looked set to scratch out his insides, and Scott faced a moment of terror, knowing that this fight was going to be over momentarily if he did not do something, and then instinct took hold.

It was like his body was moving independently from his panicked mind; he let out a deep, dangerous growl, a sound he had not even known that he was capable of producing, and dropped suddenly to the ground. His opponent did not see the move coming, as he hurtled into the space where Scott had been. With a snarl, Scott turned onto his back as the Alpha rushed past and swept out a clawed hand at the back of the Alpha’s heels, and again across the backs of his knees.

The Alpha let out a terrible shriek as his tendons were severed, and went straight down to his knees, keeling over.

Horrified, Scott dragged himself back several paces, getting as far away from the wounded Alpha as possible, trying to ignore the agonizing pain in his shoulder and the feel of a large quantity of blood moving sluggishly down his arm.

And there he sat on the sands for several moments, attempting to catch his breath in huge gulps as he, and the audience, watched the Alpha attempt to get back on his feet and failing. The Alpha struggled and fell, struggled and fell, and then the pained whines began to start as he realised his legs had been rendered useless until his Were-healing kicked in.

Scott hoped that that would be soon, if only so he could be safe in the knowledge that the injuries that he had caused would not make the Alpha suffer for too long. Scott, however, was going to be in for a much longer recovery period from the Alpha-marks clawed into his own skin.

When it looked like the Alpha wasn’t going to be getting up, and Scott wasn’t going to do anything else, a sword was thrown onto the sands from the balcony above.

The audience had been hushed, but the odd cheer began to lift. People were suddenly realising that Scott, an inexperienced Beta, may have just won this battle. Scott could scarcely believe it himself, but he was not letting his guard down.

He heaved himself unsteadily to his feet, and eyed the sword wearily, even as the Alpha noticed the sword’s presence and began to haul himself towards it by his arms, leaving a scarlet trail of blood on the sand behind him.

Scott grimaced, and quickly rounded the Alpha to snatch up the sword before he could reach it. The Alpha snarled at him, spittle foaming in his teeth and his eyes wide and wild.

Scott moved out of his reach again, and then looked up at the balcony above.

The VIPs seemed to be in deep consultation. He saw Kate, face full of fury, and she saw Allison, ghost-white and stone-still in her chair, her eyes shining.

He saw thumbs in the crowd begin to point down and heard more cheers break the silence.

The VIPs all began to turn their thumbs down too. Allison’s hands remained firmly on the arms of his chair, and Kate’s were white where they gripped her wine goblet hard in her fingers.

The crowd wanted Scott to kill the Alpha.

But Scott was not going to kill the Alpha. He didn’t want to take a life. He didn’t want to become an Alpha. He wasn’t going to let Kate turn him into something that he knew he wasn’t, and was never going to be. He wanted to show Allison that he would always strive to do the right thing.

He looked up at the balcony, with all their thumbs turning down. And he raised his sword above his head.

“Go on,” The Alpha spat at him, and Scott could see the fear in his red eyes even as he said it, “Do it.”

And so Scott plunged the sword down…driving it into the sand by his feet.

He then looked up at the balcony defiantly, and waited to see what they thought of him now.

***

The VIP balcony was in stunned silence.

“Did he just _refuse_?” One of the Ladies down the balcony exclaimed.

Allison’s fingernails had dug so deep into the wood of the chair that she would probably find they were bleeding, if she could tear her eyes away from Scott for a single second.

“He is refusing a thumbs-down,” A Lord three seats away confirmed.

The crowd was beginning to realise that Scott was defying their wishes too, and there was a rising roar of protest building like a wave around the stands.

Allison finally dragged her eyes from Scott, who was glaring up at them with his yellow-eyes, as the Alpha at his feet seemed to grow still, finally giving up, or maybe having just passed out from blood loss or the shock.

Allison looked at her Aunt. Her Aunt was rigid with fury. Her eyes were blazing, her mouth was tight. Scott’s defiance would reflect very badly on the _Lupus Ludus._ Kate’s clear attempt to kill him this time had failed, but she would most definitely kill him for this. Allison swallowed against her fear.

The tension in the balcony was so thick that it could probably be cut through with the sword that Scott had plunged into the sand instead of his opponent’s head as a sign of protest. And Scott was still staring up at them, clearly waiting to see what would happen now.

The shouts of the crowds came louder and louder, but they seemed to bounce off the silence that had descended on the VIP balcony.

And then Coach Finstock started to laugh, so loud that every head in the balcony whipped towards him.

“Coach,” Harris barked, “What in the hells do you think is so funny about this?”

“He is refusing to kill another Were. He is refusing to become an Alpha. He is refusing to become an Alpha by killing for the power.” Coach looked around at them all, as though they should all be on the same page as him, and when it became clear to him that they weren’t, he rolled his eyes and huffed loudly, as though his genius was wasted on them all. “Don’t you see? That behaviour right there,” He pointed down at Scott, “Has all the traits of a True Alpha. And that is even more remarkable given how new a Were and Gladiator this Beta is. Hells, I don’t care if he doesn’t kill this Alpha, if he doesn’t want to become one. As far as I’m concerned, that’s the Gladiator’s decision to make. Just because no Beta has defied killing an Alpha in the arena in a long time, doesn’t mean that it hasn’t happened before, or that it isn’t their right to do so. It’s in the rules of the arena, people, look it up.”

“A True Alpha?” One of the Lords questioned, “But as you say, the boy has been a Were for mere months.”

“And yet behaves like a pack-focused, pure True Alpha would. He doesn’t want to kill for the Alpha powers, which, outside of a Ludus-environment, could have meant he would have had the potential of becoming an Alpha naturally on his own merit. I have not seen anything like this in decades.” Coach seemed to be very excited about it, and Allison decided that she liked Bobby Finstock, for all his brashness, when the Coach stuck out his thumb, and it was pointed upwards. “Thumbs up from me for the ‘ _True Alpha_ ’!”

Harris regarded his employee thoughtfully, before he, too, stuck up his thumb, “The _True Alpha_ ,” He repeated.

Thumbs steadily began to point upward, and the crowd began to catch on to both the change of decision of the VIP balcony and the chant of ‘True Alpha’. The thumbs up meant that the life of the Alpha at Scott’s feet would be spared, and that Scott himself may just have earned himself a Gladiator-name.

And just like that, with overwhelming relief, Allison realised that Scott's fate had just been changed. If Scott had a name and a reputation to his Gladiator career, now, Allison hoped that her Aunt would see that it would be more in her favour to keep Scott alive.

“A great show, Kate!” Coach shouted, even as other Lords and Ladies leant over to offer their own congratulations. “And to you, Jonah! A great match! One for the record books.”

“I knew he was something special,” Kate told them all casually, leaning back in her chair and taking a sip of wine, “He just needed a little push.” There was a pleased smile on her face, and the ice in her eyes would inevitably thaw in the face of such compliments, so Allison was hopeful.

Allison let out a breath, her heart still hammering, as she finally released her death-grip on the arms of her chair, as she watched Scott leave the sands, with a triumph, a name, and most importantly, his life.

***

Stiles did not know which experience of the arena was worse; standing behind Kate and watching it all happen, unable to react as he wanted to because she would see...or having wait in the windowless infirmary, unable to see how each fight was going, and only discovering the outcome when the recovery room door opened.

He didn’t know which was worse. The watching, or the waiting.

He and Deaton only had to treat the Weres from their own Ludus. They were brought off the sands collarless, and normally walking on their own, already healing, unless brought in on stretchers. They were accompanied each time by two guards armed with wolfsbane-tipped arrows and swords, who would snap on their collars as soon as they appeared healed enough and who would then leave to collect the next injured Were.

Stiles had helped Deaton to treat four of the Ludus’ Betas as the first fights kicked off. The Betas that had come in first; two females and one male, had only had superficial injuries, but the fourth Beta had been much, much worse; so maimed that Stiles was almost sick. He had been able to feel his face draining of blood and colour.

Deaton had glanced up at him, “You ok?”

Stiles had nodded uncertainly, as the Beta whined on the table before them. Deaton had predicted the Beta would make an eventual full recovery, though Stiles had not been sure how that was even possible. There had been so much blood.

“I hate to say it,” Deaton said softly, cleaning his hands of scarlet, “But you will get used to it.”

Stiles thought of Kira and Derek’s talk of revolution, and hoped that he would be out of the Ludus long before he had a chance to get used to seeing his friends and fellow slaves wounded like this.

Of his own ‘pack’, Isaac came in first. He limped into the infirmary with his armed guards afterward, out of Beta-shift, but with his yellow eyes glowing. He was quiet and self-loathing, and Stiles found himself wondering if this was what Isaac was always like after a fight. He had never seen any of the _Wolves_ so immediately after a fight in the arena, so he realised he had no idea what any of them behaved like after they had managed to fight to survive another month, possibly having had to kill another Were in order to make that possible.

Isaac had a wound on the side of his head, and a long gash down his thigh. His accelerated healing was already at work, but Stiles made sure that he was the one that helped Isaac out of his heavy gear and make sure that the healing wounds were clean and healing properly.

“Isaac,” Stiles asked softly, “I know this is a stupid question, but are you alright?”

Isaac looked up at him, his puppy-like eyes sad and shining, “Do you want to know something, Stiles?”

“Sure. Tell me,” Stiles said, taking hold of one of Isaac’s wrists and quickly cleaning the blood of Isaac’s opponent from Isaac’s hand.

“It wasn’t until I met Dr Deaton at the _Ludus Lupus_ that I found out that Werewolves had powers of healing. You know we have powers of healing, don’t you?”

Stiles did know. He had read it in the book of _Were Lore_ that Allison had lent to him, but he had never seen it with his own eyes. “Yes.”

“The way that I was turned and the way that I was...kept,” Isaac said, absently watching Stiles clean the blood from his hand, as Stiles hated Isaac’s father, and hoped he was suffering and ashamed, wherever he was now. “I didn’t learn about Were lore quite like other Weres did. All I was taught was how to fight and win, and how to utilise the anger the change made me feel. I thought that all a Were’s powers could do was cause pain and suffering. I didn’t realise that I could use my powers to help ease other’s suffering.”

Isaac took his now clean hand from Stiles’, and leant forward, towards the next bench, where the still-healing Beta that came before him was lying, sleeping through the healing process. Isaac lightly grasped the Beta’s forearm, and almost immediately black raised veins appeared up Isaac’s hand and arm as he drew the other Beta’s pain from him. Stiles watched, fascinated.

“Deaton showed me that I could do this,” Isaac said, “And it…well, it made it better.”

“It is an amazing gift, Isaac,” Stiles told him honestly, “It really is.”

Isaac looked at him with a surprised, pleased smile, and it lit up his face and his eyes, and it made him look his seventeen years, young and bright.

“But you need your healing powers for yourself right now,” Stiles told him gently. He carefully pried Isaac’s hand away from the other Were, ignoring the bark of warning from one of the guards standing nearby.

Isaac glared at the guard and let Stiles move his hand, and Stiles started cleaning the other one.

“Are you alright?” Stiles asked again.

“I’m alright. Will you let Erica, Boyd and Scott know that too? When they come in they might ask. And Derek,” Isaac adds hopefully, “Would you let him know too, if he asks?”

“He will ask,” Stiles dismissed easily, and Isaac smiled again. Stiles lowered his voice, worried as he asked, “Do you think Scott will be ok?”

“He will be fine,” Isaac said, just as easily, as though he had not even considered the alternative; maybe he never did. Maybe he didn’t want to.

Stiles wished that he had Isaac’s optimism.

Isaac had to go back into a holding cell once he was healed sufficiently. His collar was snapped back around his neck, and his yellow eyes immediately dimmed back to their soft blue.

Not long after Isaac left, Erica flew in like a hurricane, her guards rushing in her wake.

“Where is Isaac? How is he?” She demanded.

Stiles eyed the indentations of teeth marks in her forearm. “He is fine,” He told her, steering her towards one of the benches.

“Don’t fuss, Stiles, I am fine. It’s all worse than it looks.”

“Are you sure about that?” Stiles looked at her sceptically.

Erica bared her teeth, “I have been through worse.”

“I am sure, but that doesn’t mean you don’t need to heal.”

Still Erica would not sit down, clearly agitated.

“Who is fighting next?” Stiles asked.

“Boyd,” She said distractedly, seemingly listening for activity in the arena outside.

“Well, he will be coming in here soon,” Stiles said, pointedly.

Erica seemed to realise that if she stuck around in the healing room long enough that she would be able to see Boyd when he came in, and she sat down.

“Good,” Stiles nodded, “Even super powerful warrior queens need a moment to heal,” He told her, “Isn’t that right, _Catwoman_?”

"Even super powerful warrior queens,” She agreed, clearly pleased, settling on the bench and holding out her arm for Stiles to inspect, “Well played, Stilinski.”

“Thank you, Reyes,” Stiles responded with an eye roll.

Boyd came into the room five minutes later, and as usual, without much more than a scratch.

Erica and Boyd nodded at each other when he came in, and Erica immediately relaxed, the arm in Stiles’ hands losing its tension. It must have been frustrating for the pair of them; wanting to rush to each other and make sure that they were ok, but because the guards were there, they had to act like they were no more than fellow Gladiators. If they acted as anything more it would raise suspicion and would inevitably be reported back. It made Stiles realise that he would not be able to greet Scott and Derek – dear gods, let them both survive their fights – as he would want to.

“Boyd,” Stiles asked as Boyd approached them, heading to Deaton’s bench. “How are you doing?”

Boyd shrugged, “Just a scratch from a sword.”

Stiles marvelled at how a sword wound could be considered a ‘scratch’, but then, the Weres had all endured much worse than swords. Maybe it _was_ just like a scratch to Boyd by now. There was something terribly, terribly sad about that.

Stiles pushed those thoughts aside to be impressed instead, “Do you ever get anything more than a scratch?”

Boyd leant over and flicked Stiles in the ear. Stiles wondered if it was something that Boyd had picked up from Derek, or if they both just had an uncanny preference and knack for the same punishment. “Don’t tempt fate,” Boyd chided.

“Not tempting any kind of fate,” Stiles held up his hands, using one to cover his ear protectively.

He was not going to tempt any kind of fate, not when Lydia could potentially be telling him of people’s fates days beforehand. It made his stomach turn again at the thought of Lydia’s prophecy about Scott actually coming true and he swallowed heavily. Scott couldn’t become an Alpha, he reminded himself for the thousandth time. It was impossible.

“Keep your hands to yourself, _Ice Wolf,_ ” One of the guards ordered harshly.

Boyd smiled sheepishly even as he stared at his guards as icily as his given Gladiator name, and then turned to Deaton.

“Just consider me impressed,” Stiles muttered, watching Boyd’s smile tilt up into something a little more self-confident and pleased.

Jackson came in next, when Erica and Boyd had both been re-collared and escorted out.

Jackson was hobbling, having had a spear stuck through his left foot.

“It wasn’t poison-tipped,” He informed Deaton, and his voice was strained as he took the weight off it as he sat up on the bench.

Deaton nodded, “Just a matter of cleaning and waiting for it to heal, then.”

Stiles tried not to gag as Deaton removed Jackson’s Gladiator sandal and he saw the hole in Jackson’s foot.

Jackson grinned at him morbidly, ever the mocker, even though they were friends by that point. It was apparently their 'thing', now.

“Feeling squeamish, Stiles?”

Stiles assumed that poking fun at someone else was taking Jackson’s mind off the fact that he had a gaping wound in his foot. So Stiles allowed him it, to an extent.

Stiles swallowed heavily and looked away. “A little, but it’s still less gross than your face.”

It startled a laugh out of Jackson, and Stiles counted that as a win. “Ouch. That was so pathetic it was painful.”

“More painful than a spear to the foot?”

“More painful,” Jackson agreed, gritting his teeth as Deaton began to clean his foot. As he gritted them, they elongated into his Beta ones, clearly instinctual, as he focused more on the pain than his control on his Shift.

“But,” Stiles said thoughtfully, “Surely less painful than your attempts at banter?”

Jackson snorted, “That is purely a matter of opinion,” He said around the fangs, before he managed to retract them, “I find your comebacks shoddy.”

“I find _you_ shoddy,” Stiles bit back, without heat.

Jackson laughed again. It was pained and twisted, but he was effectively distracted, so it made Stiles feel a little better about it.

“I think your insults are getting worse. And don’t finish that up with ‘ _you_ are getting worse’.”

“Damn, you have me all figured out, Jackson.”

Jackson shuddered, whether from the pain or for show Stiles could not tell, and said, “That is more insulting than you think it is.”

Stiles laughed. And then he fell silent, when he realised he could not hear the crowds in the stands. He had been able to hear them, a constant background noise, throughout the day. But now he could not hear them. Surely it could not be the lunch break already, because Scott’s fight should have been before the lunch break?

“Jackson,” Stiles asked, serious now, and Jackson picked up on his change of tone, looking at him curiously. “What is going on out there? Can you hear?”

Jackson frowned, and for once, did as he was told, his eyes glowing their Beta-colour as he used his supernatural hearing. “I can’t hear much of anything.”

“That is what I am worried about. When was Scott’s fight supposed to be?”

Jackson cocked his head, watching Stiles carefully, and then his eyebrow rose up his face in realisation. “He shouldn’t have been that many fights after me.”

Stiles swallowed, “Is he out there now?” His stomach was twisting itself into tight little knots. “Why can’t we hear the crowds?”

Jackson shook his head, “Don’t think about it Stiles. It won’t be because of Scott.”

“But what if it is?”

Jackson glared at him, and Stiles shut his mouth.

“I am the patient at hand, here,” Jackson said haughtily, convincingly. At one time, Stiles would have thought Jackson was being cruel on purpose, but he knew him better now, and he knew an attempt to distract Stiles attention when he saw one. “Worry about me, for now.”

Stiles tried for a few minutes more, even though his hands had started shaking and he wasn’t much help. He left Jackson to Deaton, and went to check on the healing Beta, still asleep on his bench.

And then, finally, they heard the crowd. But the crowd did not just become audible. They became louder than Stiles had heard them all day. They seemed to be chanting something, from the fall and rise of their words.

“Jackson,” Stiles said, “What are they saying?”

Jackson’s eyes glowed again as he listened. He frowned again. “They are saying ' _True Alpha'._ ”

Stiles blanched. “What? Why?”

“I don’t know,” Jackson said bluntly, “I can hear through walls but I can’t see through them.”

“Jackson,” Stiles snapped, “Please. What does that even mean? What does ‘True Alpha’ mean?”

“A True Alpha is a Beta Were who becomes an Alpha through their own virtue,” Deaton was the one who explained, “And their loyalty to their own kind. They don’t kill an Alpha to take their Alpha status. They develop it naturally.”

Stiles frowned, panicked and bewildered, “That wasn’t in my...” Stiles glanced at the guards by the door, who were looking very interested in the noise outside, and realised that blurting about his not-allowed book was not a good idea. “I didn’t know that.”

“You wouldn’t have heard it. It’s not much spoken about, and it’s not in any book,” Deaton said, knowing what Stiles was going to say anyway, “And if it is, it will be just a footnote, most likely. It doesn’t apply to Weres in captive, so the Hunters that wrote the book did not think it was important, probably because it isn’t relevant to Hunters today. True Alphas are very rare, particularly in today’s culture, where most Weres are slaves and unable to form true pack dynamics, nor able to avoid having to kill each other for sport.”

Stiles grimaced. “The Alphas don’t fight until after midday,” He rounded on Jackson, desperately, “Jackson, why are they chanting?”

“I don’t know,” Jackson said carefully, “They normally only chant Gladiator’s fighting names like that. I don’t know of any Were with that Gladiator name.”

“Why would they earn that nickname? How?”

Jackson shrugged, “It’s hard to tell what a crowd will latch onto. They may be shouting ‘True Alpha’, but it won’t be that that has actually happened. No more than I am a Kanima or Erica is a cat. It will be to do with what is happening in the fight, or what the winner has done to earn the name. But it won’t be real. Like Deaton said, True Alphas aren’t a thing anymore, not for Weres that are Gladiators or without a pack.”

Stiles froze, “You mean the fight is already over?”

“If they are chanting like that, I would say it’s either over or getting that way.”

Icy shivers moved their way down Stiles’ arms and crept up the back of his neck. “So one of those Weres out there has just earned themselves that nickname? They must have earned it for a reason. And it includes the word ‘Alpha’ in it, and therefore I don’t like it.” Stiles protested. He turned to the guards and glared at them, “Can’t you go and see what’s going on?”

To his surprise, the guards actually were apparently curious enough to go out through the door to check.

Stiles took his chance to turn back to Jackson. “What if Scott has been made to fight an Alpha?” He asked, lowering his voice to an urgent whisper.

Jackson looked baffled, “Wait, what? What’s got that idea into your head? Scott’s a third-time Beta fighter. They wouldn’t put him up against an Alpha. It would be pointless. He will be fighting Betas for the next two years, at least. Longer, if my Gladiator ‘career’ is anything to go by.”

That was assuming that Scott was allowed to live that long. Stiles swallowed. “Then why are they shouting about a True Alpha?”

“Stiles,” Jackson said again, firmly, watching Stiles closely, clearly seeing that there was something Stiles was worried about that he wasn’t sharing. And Stiles was afraid to share it with him without telling Lydia first. Because he and Kira could be wrong. Lydia might not be a Banshee at all. Please gods, Stiles prayed, don’t let Scott be fighting an Alpha at that second.

“I really don’t know.” Jackson said again, and he narrowed his eyes, “But what is it that you know?”

Stiles opened his mouth, realising he had put his foot in it, feeling cornered and quickly trying to make up a logical excuse, when the door across the room slammed open.

Scott was standing there, covered in blood.

“Scott!” Stiles yelped, and nearly tripped over himself in his haste to get to him.

He was so, so relieved to see his friend alive, and his eyes glowing Beta-yellow, that he moved with such speed that he had to halt abruptly for fear of smashing straight into him and causing him any more pain.

Because Scott surely had to be in pain. His arm looked shredded.

“Oh gods, Scott, what the hells happened?” Stiles garbled, moving his hands delicately over Scott’s face and along his injuries. “How badly are you hurt?”

“I’m ok,” Scott said, seeming a little dazed, “It’s my arm, mainly. And my chest…” The arm that wasn’t hanging uselessly at his side lifted to brush against scratches in his chest. “And he hit me in the head.”

“Scott…” Stiles made to manhandle him towards the nearest bench, but Scott remained frozen in place. “Scott, what is it?”

Scott’s wide, disbelieving eyes met his, “They put me in a fight with an Alpha.”

“What?” Stiles gasped, ignoring how he could feel Jackson’s gaze suddenly burning into them both from across the room.

“How is that even possible?” Jackson asked.

“I don’t know. Could have been a scheduling accident,” Scott said vaguely, and shrugged with his good shoulder, “Could have been arranged on purpose.”

“How are you still standing, Scott?” Stiles breathed, helping Scott over to the nearest bench.

Lydia had said that she had seen the arena, blood on the sands, Scott, the red eyes of an Alpha, and a body on the sands. She may have dreamt of all those things, but maybe she had jumped to conclusions. She had seen Scott, and she had seen an Alpha’s eyes, but maybe they had absolutely no connection. Maybe she had been wrong. Because Scott had not become an Alpha. Maybe it hadn’t been an accurate premonition. Maybe she wasn’t a Banshee after all.

“I eventually managed to take him down by cutting the tendons in the back of his heels,” Scott grimaced. “He couldn’t stand. They threw down a sword for me to finish him off, gave him the thumbs-down, and I…well I refused.”

Stiles blinked. “You what?” He looked at Jackson and Deaton, “Is that even allowed?”

“Of course it is,” Jackson dismissed, “It ruins a Weres’ reputation in the arena though.”

“But they let me get away with it,” Scott sounded stunned even as he said it, “They didn’t make me kill him, and then they all started chanting.”

“Chanting,” Jackson repeated, “So it _is_ you? You are the one they are calling _True Alpha_?”

Scott nodded. “I don’t even know what that means.”

“It’s because you didn’t kill the Alpha,” Jackson said, “You chose not to. Acts like that in a free pack would mark the virtue of a True Alpha; a Beta Were in rare cases that becomes an Alpha because of their actions to protect their own kind. That’s something none of the _Lupus Ludus_ Gladiators could ever be, because we have all killed other Weres to survive. You, though. You have never killed one of our kind.” Jackson did not seem displeased or bitter about his lot, or Scott’s apparent success. Instead he grinned, and nodded, impressed, “Looks like we won’t be able to call you ‘Newbie’ now, _True Alpha.”_

And just like that, Stiles once again found himself questioning his previous conclusion. He realised that maybe Lydia's prediction  _had_ been true. Scott  _had_ become an Alpha, but only in name. Lydia had seen all the components, and her prediction may have been scrambled, but maybe she had seen the gist of what had come to pass.

Scott gave a nervous laugh, and then moaned in pain as Stiles began to loosen the various straps around his bleeding arm and start cleaning the wound, his stomach roiling a little at the sight of so much blood coming from his best friend.

Stiles leant his forehead against Scott’s when Scott let out a whimper, and said, “I know, Scott, I’m sorry.”

“Hey! Watch how you touch the Weres!” One of the guards shouted at him.

Stiles spun around fiercely, “I can do what I like with him. I have permission from Lord Christopher Argent. If you have a problem with that, take it up with him.”

“Stiles,” Scott chided, and Stiles turned back around sheepishly. But the guards did not interfere again. Stiles got Scott cleaned up, and then it was just a matter of waiting for Scott to heal more fully before his collar could go back on. It would take a longer healing time for Scott, because of the wounds being inflicted by an Alpha.

By the time Stiles was done with Scott, Jackson was up, testing his weight on his mostly-healed foot.

“You have a Gladiator title now, Scott,” Jackson reminded Scott as the guards came forward to close the collar back around Jackson’s neck. “It means you will be worth something to her now.”

“He’s right, you know,” Stiles murmured as Jackson was led out of the room. “She might not want you dead anymore.”

“I defied her,” Scott said, “If she wanted to kill me today, then I was the reason she failed. She won’t thank me for it.”

“But now you have a reputation she might have no choice.” Stiles smiled, “You have no idea how glad I am to see you alive.” He took a breath. "You became an Alpha today.”

“Only in name,” Scott reminded him.

But a name was enough. Enough to suggest that Lydia really had predicted the events of the day and Scott’s fight; enough to put Scott in the public eye; enough to guarantee him another fight with an Alpha one day – maybe not for years yet – but one day. The name was enough.

Scott stayed in the recovery room as the first Alphas began to traipse in after their fights.

Smith even begrudgingly thanked Stiles after Stiles had finished checking on him, which Stiles found highly surprising.

One Alpha was killed, and Stiles could not look at the body as it was carried in to Deaton, and then carried away. He kept his gaze steadfastly on Scott, and kept Scott talking, to distract Scott from staring at the dead Alpha with wide, gleaming eyes.

Peter came in next.

Stiles gawped. He had so far only seen Peter effortlessly win his fights, and Peter did not look like this fight had been so easy to win.

Peter noticed Stiles and Scott gawping, and said, “I was a bit distracted today.”

“A bit distracted?” Stiles protested disbelievingly, “Peter!”

Peter had a large laceration down his face, thankfully missing his nose and eyes, but his chest and stomach and arms had taken several wounds too. He was bathed in blood, and Stiles knew that whilst some of it would have inevitably been from Peter’s opponent, this time a lot of it was Peter’s too.

“I knew you cared, really,” Peter said as Stiles led him to a bench.

“‘Cared’ is a strong word,” Stiles retorted, pushing Peter to sit down by his unmarred shoulder.

Peter eyed where Stiles was quickly gathering supplies, his actions proving his statement false, and raised a challenging eyebrow. He then looked over at Scott.

“And what about you?” Peter asked Scott.

“I still don’t like you.”

“No, that isn’t what I meant,” Peter smirked sharply, “I meant your fight.” He frowned, “Those wounds should have healed by now.”

“Oh,” Scott looked down at the gouges in his arm and chest, healing at a snail’s pace, “They are Alpha-inflicted, so it takes longer, doesn’t it?”

Stiles was actually impressed at how Peter’s face barely even twitched in surprise. “You were put up against an Alpha?” Peter asked, “And you survived it?”

Scott nodded, jutting his chin in defiance; daring Peter to make comment.

Peter leant over to Stiles to murmur in his ear, “Definitely a Were of mine.”

It was quiet enough that the guards mercifully did not hear, but Scott did.

“Not yours,” Scott hissed under his breath, “I am not your Beta.”

“And that is the curious thing,” Peter cocked his head, ignoring – or maybe just used to the feeling of – Stiles starting to treat his wounds with various substances that surely had to sting. “Here you are the victor, and yet, still a Beta.”

“I refused to kill him.”

Stiles glanced up at Peter’s face and was surprised to see Peter smile a genuine smile, his eyes crinkling in the corners in the same endearing way that Derek’s did.

“Of course you did,” Peter said, sounding utterly unsurprised, and he immediately dropped the subject, as though that was all he needed to know. He gritted his teeth as Stiles pressed a wad of material against his stomach, and his suddenly red Alpha-eyes found Stiles, “Don’t be too gentle on my account.”

Stiles was about to make a quick retaliating comment about Peter not deserving gentle treatment, but he somehow could not find the words. Maybe because he would not really have meant them.

“Sorry,” Stiles apologised, quietly, easing the pressure a little.

Peter blinked at him with surprise, before his face schooled itself back to its usual blasé expression. “It’s quite alright, Stiles. I don’t mind being treated a little rough, every now and again.” He winked, but it didn’t look as charming as it should have done, what with blood oozing down the side of his face.

“Good grief,” Stiles lifted his eyes ceiling-wards, “You are outrageous.”

“Outrageously charming? Outrageously handsome?”

“No, just outrageous. I don’t see how you…”

The door opened again, and Derek stood in it, chest heaving, his eyes darting around the room, catching on Peter, Scott and then Stiles.

Stiles wanted nothing more than to run to Derek and embrace him, but he could not do so with the guards observing them. He scanned Derek quickly, seeing a graze of a sword or claws here and there, but nothing so serious as Peter and Scott. He let out a sigh of relief instead.

Derek wasted no time in striding towards them across the room.

Derek looked at him, and Stiles found himself being able to understand Derek’s wordless communication;  _And?_ Derek seemed to be asking him with his eyes; asking him whether Lydia’s prediction had come true, his gaze flickering to Scott and back again with meaning.

Stiles pressed his lips together, and gave a sideways-nod, hopefully to send back to answer of, _kind of._ Scott had become an Alpha, but only in name.

Scott was watching the pair of them closely, as though trying to join in with the communication too. Whilst Peter watched the exchange and rolled his eyes. Stiles pushed a wad of damp material onto the wound on Peter's face to shut him up before he could make comment.

Derek nodded at Stiles, attention wholly on him for a couple of seconds, until he turned abruptly to Scott.

“So,” Derek said, “Are you going to fill me in?”

***

The moment that Stiles stepped into Deaton’s medical room, three days after the tournament, and saw Derek standing across the room, he immediately barrelled forward into Derek’s arms. He had not seen Derek since that day in the recovery room at the arena, where he had not been able to greet him and check on him as he had truly wanted to.

Derek caught him, and held him tightly, and Stiles heard Derek’s intake of breath, his nose pressed into Stiles’ short hair.

“How are you?” Stiles asked, pulling away from Derek’s chest to look at him.

Derek shrugged. “The usual.”

“Cheerful, optimistic and full of positive energy?” Stiles suggested with a grin, “I am thrilled to hear it, Sour Wolf.”

Derek rolled his eyes.

“That’s my ray of sunshine,” Stiles teased. “But I am glad you are ok." He planted a quick kiss on Derek’s collarbone, just because he could. “How is everyone doing?”

“They are ok too.”

“Good,” Stiles said. “Thank you for not getting too injured, the other day, by the way. I appreciate that.”

“Because it made less work for you?”

“Exactly,” Stiles said, “It was very thoughtful of you.”

Derek smiled, his eyes crinkling in amusement, because although the Weres were resigned to fighting for their lives in the arena, they all seemed to have developed a fairly morbid sense of humour because of it, which meant that Stiles had finally found people who sometimes laughed at his spectacular wit.

Derek also, assumedly, had gathered the true meaning of Stiles’ statement, which was simply _I am very, very glad that you are alive._

“So, how was your first time in the recovery room?” Derek asked.

“Pretty horrific, to be perfectly honest with you. But it was nice to be there for you all, afterwards, even if it was not in quite the ways I truly wanted to be.”

“I think you being there helped them,” Derek’s expression had sobered again, “Particularly our…” Derek cleared his throat, “Our group. And it was nice to know that you didn’t have to be forced through watching the fights.”

“I don’t know which was worse,” Stiles admitted, “Being able to see everything, or not being able to and only being able to find out how the fights went when the recovery room door opened.”

“It must have been hard,” Derek agreed, as though what Stiles had been through was as much a hardship as any of the Gladiators fighting for their lives. Derek’s voice dropped in volume, “Particularly knowing Lydia’s premonition about Scott, and just having to wait to see whether it would come to pass or not. But it came true,” Derek’s eyes were searching Stiles’ face. “Kira was right.” He paused. “Have you said anything to Lydia?”

Stiles sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face until Derek caught it and tugged it back down, “We are sitting her down tomorrow. We still don’t really know for sure, but she needs to know, and we need to be prepared for whatever that will mean.”

“We will figure it out,” Derek promised him, and he looked earnest and all of his youthful years in that moment, and Stiles wanted to kiss him.

So he did. He kissed him with a sweet, long press of lips. When he pulled back a couple of centimetres and looked up into Derek’s eyes, they were dark and focused on him.

“I love you.”

“I know,” Derek said, lifting Stiles’ hand to his mouth, and pressing his lips to it. Derek’s gaze remained on Stiles’ hand as he said, “It was what I thought about in the arena. It helped me win.”

“You were winning fights long before I came to the Ludus,” Stiles reminded him, softly.

“But now I have something more to win them for,” Derek said, low and catching tone, and Stiles’ breath caught in his chest. Stiles knew Derek fought for his freedom, and the freedoms of his sisters and Peter, but Stiles was honoured to now be counted among one of Derek’s reasons to remain a champion of the arena; that he was something worth fighting for to Derek. “It makes me want to win all the more.”

Stiles let out the breath he had been holding, and it came out stuttered. He lifted a hand to trace it delicately around Derek’s collar. He was about to lean in and press his lips back to Derek’s, when there was sudden bang from behind one of the doors of the room, and Stiles almost leapt out of his skin.

“What the?” Stiles whipped around, accidentally dragging Derek’s arm with him when he forgot to let go of his hand. “Oh, right. Deaton. Deaton is…” There was nobody else in the room. Stiles frowned, “I’m supposed to be here for Deaton’s lesson.”

“Yes,” Derek said, and he sounded smug, even as his arm was being pulled at an awkward angle. “Did I make you forget?”

“Don’t sound so pleased with yourself,” Stiles retorted without the slightest bit of heat. He turned back around to send Derek a smirk, “I only find you marginally distracting.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

Derek leaned in to kiss him, and Stiles eagerly moved forwards, until Derek stopped suddenly, a mere inch from Stiles’ lips, and grinned that shit-eating grin that Stiles mock-hated and actually found incredibly attractive. “I thought you were wondering where Deaton was?”

“I was!” Stiles protested, “I am!”

“He is in his office,” Derek told him, pulling back, “He has given you the evening off.”

Stiles glanced at the door to Deaton’s office (which was soundproofed thanks to the Druid’s magic) and then quizzically back at Derek, “He has?”

Derek nodded, the corner of his lips now curled into the ghost of a smile. His hazel-green eyes looked incredibly pleased. “I have a surprise for you.”

“Oh?”

Derek turned away and pointed to their usual room. “In there.”

“Uh-huh.” Stiles lifted an eyebrow, not understanding the sudden change in mood. “You are being suspicious, Derek.”

“You don’t trust me?” Derek challenged, crossing his big arms over his broad chest.

That had Stiles stumped. And also more than mildly distracted at the way Derek’s biceps looked pressed against his solid, sculpted torso.

He blinked, and forced his eyes upwards to Derek’s smug face.

“Yes. I do,” He said.

He did not miss how Derek mutedly lit up at the admission. Stiles grinned at him, and turned to walk to the door.

He opened it, and blinked.

“Scott?”

Scott was standing there in the middle of the room, shuffling his feet. He smiled a lopsided smile.

“Hey Stiles,” Scott said. “Surprise! Well, maybe not so much of a surprise, sorry, I knocked the chair over. I didn’t mean to but I was just…” Scott smiled sheepishly over at Derek, “I wasn’t eavesdropping I swear.”

“Scott!” Stiles said again, more elated than confused this time, and sent his best friend the usual blinding smile he reserved just for him, “What…what are you doing here?”

“Scott,” Derek’s voice came from behind Stiles, “You only have an hour, you hear?”

Scott nodded, “I won’t be late.”

Stiles suddenly realised what this was. Derek knew that Stiles had not been able to see Scott since the tournament either, and so had organised them an hour together. This was his surprise for Stiles.

Stiles swung around to find that Derek had come up close behind him. Their eyes met, and Derek seemed taken aback by whatever love-struck look must have crept onto Stiles’ face. It was probably an incredibly dopey look, but Stiles could not bring himself to care.

Stiles groped for Derek’s hand and found it, squeezing it tightly, “You…you are…” He stalled, closed his eyes, let out a breath, and then said, “Thank you.”

He opened his eyes in surprise when he felt lips brush against the corner of his smile.

“You are welcome,” Derek murmured. “I have to go and make sure Scott isn’t being missed. I will see you again soon.”

“And you will be here next week?” Stiles asked.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Derek smiled, big and wide with teeth. And then he straightened up, looking at Scott, “Scott, I will knock for you in an hour.”

“Thanks Derek.”

And then Derek left.

Whilst Stiles could have spent many minutes gazing after Derek like a smitten fool, wondering how on earth he had come to deserve such a man, he would have wasted precious moments with Scott. So he resolved to thank Derek properly when he saw him the next week, and turned to throw himself into a hug with Scott.

He and Scott ended up curled on the bed in the little room, face to face, like they used to sleep sometimes as boys in the slave quarters of Chris and Victoria Argent’s house, and talked to each other in soft voices about anything and everything. They avoided the topic of the arena, mainly because there was little more to say in that respect; Scott had a Gladiator name now, and a reputation. Apparently the talk of the city for the last three days had been Scott’s fight at the arena. Kate had been thrilled. It did not mean she treated Scott any differently, but it meant that she did not want him dead anymore, so that was something of a relief in the short-term. He would still have to fight in the arena every month, and he might not get away with not killing his opponents forever, but with his new title and arena-reputation, Scott had a better chance than many at attempting to do so.

So they avoided talk of the arena, and when Scott’s tanned fingers circled Stiles’ wrist like he was a comforting lifeline, Stiles did not say a thing, and only huddled closer.


	10. Chapter 10

Stiles had imagined a number of scenarios that could have potentially played out when he and Kira broke the news to Lydia that she probably had dormant banshee powers that had started to manifest after her attack by the rogue Alpha. Lydia was headstrong, sure and sassy, or at least, she had been before the attack, and she had finally been getting that back, so Stiles had imagined her arguing. He had imagined her disbelieving, calling them crazy, staring at them like she thought they were playing some kind of joke on her. He imagined her freaking out about the possible truth of it, and about Kira being a Kitsune. Or possibly even worse, he could imagine her falling silent, falling back into the shell-shocked shadow of herself that had been plagued by a vicious attack and crueller nightmares.

He hadn’t expected her to sit quietly, thoughtfully solemn, taking in every piece of information and nodding here and there to let them know that she was still following.

When Kira had finished her explanation, Lydia took a short breath in through her nose, her lips pursed with determined focus, and there was a look in her eye that Stiles had not seen before; a look of reminiscent fondness that he could not quite understand.

Stiles was also surprised that the first thing Lydia said was not a statement of disbelief, but the question, “You say that Banshee powers can be passed down through a family?”

“Yes they can. Though the gene can be random or selective, if the powers existed several generations back," Kira said. “My mother is a Kitsune, but my father isn’t. There was a fifty-fifty chance that I would or wouldn’t be. You could have had a Banshee further back in your family that you weren’t aware of. The fact that your powers were dormant before, suggests that it was likely not from one of your parents…”

“My grandmother,” Lydia said.

Stiles and Kira stared at her in surprise.

“Your grandmother?” Stiles repeated.

Had Lydia known all this time that she was descended from a Supernatural? Stiles was about to ask, but Lydia beat him to it;

“I didn’t know that was what she was. Maybe she didn’t even know herself. People used to think she was just a bit odd.” The wistful expression on Lydia’s face intensified. “She was a slave all her life. Like my parents and me. She would tell me stories, when I was little. Stories of things that I could never have imagined. Things that she could never have heard about, seen or learned serving in a house all her life. She said her friends told her. She said she was never lonely because she could hear the whispers of her friends. She could talk to other worlds, she said. She could talk to other people far away, and could hear them sing and scream sometimes. She said she could hear it in the strumming of a stringed instrument, or in the drips of water. I would find her tapping on the wooden blinds of the windows sometimes, listening to them. She would tell me the stories of bizarre dreams she would have. She told me she could predict the future. People would die, sometimes, and she always said that she had seen it coming, but hadn’t had the heart to tell them. She never explained herself. That was just who she was, someone with an imagination that stretched so much further than mine. I was always so logical, but she would inspire me to imagine other worlds, and the Supernatural world, where mermaids and fairies and werewolves existed. I never thought that maybe she could have had a supernatural ability..." She paused, "But what you have explained to me, and what I have been experiencing since the attacks…” She stopped again, her eyes wide as she seemed to fit all the pieces together, “It makes sense.”

Stiles moved to perch beside her on the bed. He reached out and wrapped his fingers carefully around her forearm. “And you are ok?”

She glanced at him, smiled a smile that did not quite reach her teary eyes, and nodded.

“Now I know what I have…what I am, I can learn how to control it, can’t I?” Lydia liked to be in control. She liked to be logical. Now she knew what it was that had been effecting her, Stiles knew she would then strive to learn how to manage it. “You said that there is a chapter about it in the latest book the Lady Allison brought you?”

“Yes,” Stiles said, “I can see if I can bring it up here for you. Or at least copy out the pages.”

Lydia smiled at him again, and her small, delicate hand slid on top of his, squeezing it in thanks.

“Thank you.” Lydia then glanced up at Kira, who was still standing in front of them, looking nervous. “And thank you, Kira, for telling me. I will keep your secret, I promise.”

“As I will keep yours,” Kira returned.

“You have hidden yourself for so long, even in a house like this. Owned by a woman like that,” Lydia said. “I am afraid that I won’t be able to. But you can teach me, can’t you? You can help me manage it?”

Kira looked flattered, her eyes bright as she nodded enthusiastically, “Of course I will help you.”

Lydia seemed relieved for all of three seconds, before she deflated a little, “I am going to have to tell Jackson. I need to see him. I haven’t seen him properly since the attack.”

“We can figure that out,” Stiles told her firmly. “We will figure it all out, together. That’s what a Supernatural pack does, doesn’t it?”

Lydia rolled her eyes, “Supernaturals don’t form packs like Weres do.”

“Everyone always says that Ludus environments stop Weres forming functional packs, and that may be true, but it doesn’t mean that an unusual one can’t be formed.” He nudged her with his shoulder. “Besides, we aren’t particularly ordinary are we?”

“Speak for yourself,” Lydia retorted. “And you, by the way, are human…” She trailed off, as though suddenly realising that that did not necessarily apply to _her_ anymore.

“But I am not ordinary,” Stiles countered, eager to take her mind off it. And what better way to do that than by poking fun at himself? 

Kira laughed and Lydia shook her head fondly. There was a frown in her brow which suggested that the news was still sinking in for her, and that she was inevitably turning Kira’s explanation over and over in her head alongside memories of her grandmother, but nevertheless, she seemed cheered by Kira and Stiles’ support.

“No, Stiles,” She said finally, “You aren’t ordinary.”

She said it with more sincerity than jest, and Stiles knew that she meant it in an entirely different way to the way he had.

***

Stiles poked through a selection of bottles filled with potions and powders that Deaton had left out on the table in the room Stiles and Derek used for their secret meetings.

One of those secret meetings was happening right at that moment, but Stiles, still a little absorbed in the lesson Deaton had just finished with him, had an active mind and an even more active curiosity.

Derek currently looked exasperated about the proceedings of the day’s secret rendezvous. He was sitting on the bed, leant back against the wall it was pushed up against, his arms crossed over his chest, watching Stiles inspect the bottles with a skeptical raised eyebrow.

“Hey!” Stiles held up a vial full of a particularly purple substance. “Look at this one!”

Derek looked at it. He looked at Stiles.

“Do you know how to use it?”

Stiles frowned. “No.”

Derek rolled his eyes, “Then put it back.”

“You said that for the last three!”

“I know,” Derek said flatly, a smirk quirking at the corner of his mouth even as he seemed to want to suppress it. “Do you know how to use any of them?”

Stiles tried not to show how pleased he was that Derek was becoming less and less immune to Stiles’ natural - and to be perfectly honest, flawless - wit. “Deaton hasn’t started teaching me magic yet.”

“Then I would suggest that you leave all of them alone.”

Stiles did as he was told, but turned around with a sly grin. “Are you upset because I am paying more attention to Deaton’s potions than you?”

Derek spread his hands out as though to say _‘Look what you could be paying attention to’_.

“You have other things you could be focusing your devoted attention on,” Derek said loftily, inspecting his scuffed fingernails. “But if you want to keep feeling up Deaton’s things, then it’s up to you.”

Stiles screwed up his nose. “Nice innuendo. Provided me with a mental image I didn’t particularly want, but nice one.” Innuendos aside, though, Derek had also laid down some rather choice and obvious bait. And Stiles was more than certainly going to bite the hells out of it. “Though you are totally right,” He said, moving closer to the edge of the bed, ending up between where Derek’s feet hung off the side. “There are much better things I could be feeling up. _Someone_ who clearly is dying for my ‘devoted attention’.”

Derek sniffed, “I’m not that desperate.” He looked up at Stiles and smiled smugly, his frankly adorable front teeth dragging over his bottom lip as he did so, and Stiles knew that whilst Derek made that move ridiculously attractive, if Stiles ever tried to intentionally do something so seductive he would probably look like an idiot. Derek was a master of seduction, and just the sight of that movement of his mouth, and the way that Derek was lounging back on the bed in all his leather gear, had Stiles feeling significantly more hot and bothered than he had been a few moments before.

“Well, _I_ _am_ desperate,” Stiles decided to say. “So…forgive me? Kiss and make up?”

Derek’s eyebrow arched, but then his smile grew into that charmingly arrogant one that Stiles loved to feel envious of.  “I think I could allow that.”

“Good. Allow away,” Stiles agreed, grinning as Derek sat up abruptly and tugged Stiles down to his mouth in one smooth motion.

Stiles let Derek draw him onto the bed, shedding his shirt along the way, until Stiles was straddling Derek’s hips, and Derek was looking up at him with dark, inky eyes.

“Well,” Stiles said, “This is nice.”

“More than nice,” Derek slid his hands up the backs of Stiles’ thighs, pushing his fingers up under the bottom hem of Stiles’ stupid house slave loincloth, his fingers smoothing up Stiles' backside, until the material stopped his hands from moving them up further. Derek leant up to mouth at Stiles’ jaw. “I would hope,” He added in Stiles' ear.

Stiles groaned, both aroused by Derek as a whole, but also frustrated that their clothes were obstructing everything.

Stiles dropped his hands to the tie of his loincloth, scrabbling at it distractedly as Derek moved his mouth to Stiles’ neck. Eventually Stiles let out a little growl of irritation, having to move his head to the side in order to look down at the knot he was trying to untie. He could feel Derek grinning into his skin.

“Yeah, yeah, very funny,” Stiles muttered, before giving in to a full-body shudder as Derek latched onto his ear instead. “You know, you doing this isn’t getting…ah…isn’t getting me undressed any faster.”

Derek pulled way, his eyes meeting Stiles’ as he smirked, “Good point.”

“I also kind of don’t want you to stop though,” Stiles sighed, torn.

Derek rolled his eyes, “It’s not a huge dilemma,” He told him, “Don’t be so dramatic.” He drew his fingers out of the back of Stiles’ loincloth and leant forward to rest his forehead against Stiles’ as they both looked down.

Derek batted Stiles’ fingers out the way and deftly untied Stiles’ loincloth in moments.

Stiles only just refrained from knocking his head against Derek’s in retaliation. He glanced up, to find Derek looking at him, soft mockery on his face. Stiles could have made a defensive comment, but found himself smiling back instead.

“Alright, Mr Show-Off,” Stiles said, much more quietly and softly than he had intended, “Now what?”

“Now…” Derek said, just as quietly, and he slowly removed the material from around Stiles’ waist.

It left Stiles completely naked, whilst Derek was fully clothed – as far as a Gladiator’s outfit could count as being fully clothed – and Stiles moved self-consciously.

Derek did not seem to notice, his gaze trailing slowly down Stiles’ body.

Floundering for something to do and say, feeling a flush make its way from his face and down his chest, Stiles cleared his throat, and jested awkwardly, “Like what you see?”

He expected Derek to make a jibe of some kind, not for Derek to nod and say, “More than you could know.”

Stiles shifted again, a little overwhelmed by the pure sincerity of it, and the movement ground him down onto Derek’s crotch, where the signs of his interest were very, very apparent.

Derek let out a strange little whining sound through his teeth, and his hands slid back around Stiles, spread fingers travelling over bare skin.

“So,” Stiles asked, a little breathlessly, rocking forwards and mouthing the words against Derek’s temple, “Are you going to join me in my level of nudity, or?”

Derek immediately lifted Stiles by the backs of his thighs and hauled him, with surprising gentleness and frankly envy-inducing ease, onto the bed.

Stiles lay sprawled out, limbs akimbo and staring up at the ceiling with surprise as Derek seemed to scramble into action, pieces of leather sailing over Stiles’ head and across the room to land on the floor.

“The err…” Stiles said, “The erm, the manhandling, you just…so you are very strong. And you can just pick a person up and…yes, well, the manhandling…”

“What about it?” Derek asked, appearing suddenly above Stiles, straddled over him and now equally as naked. His eyes had darkened even further, and he lowered his head to lick a stripe over Stiles’ cheek. “Do you like the manhandling?”

“Oh gods,” Stiles groaned, lifting his hands, one sliding into Derek’s hair in encouragement, as the other ran down, bumping over ridges of muscle, to settle at Derek’s hip. “I would be lying if I said that I didn’t.”

“I am storing that one away,” Derek promised.

“Oh yes, you remember that one,” Stiles said, “That may come in handy in future.”

He could feel Derek’s grin against his skin again, as Derek’s lips met Stiles’ neck, and Stiles moaned as Derek began dragging his teeth over Stiles’ collarbone.

“Derek…” Stiles warned, not wanting to but needing to, “We can’t leave any marks they will see.”

Derek grumbled in quiet, frustrated agreement, and he stopped, his lips tracing over Stiles’ golden house slaves’ collar in acknowledgment, before he moved back up to look at Stiles. Stiles’ eyelids fluttered as the movement rubbed their bare skin and their cocks, together.

“I will just have to kiss you instead,” Derek suggested, his voice hitching.

“Oh yes,” Stiles agreed, “You can do that.”

Derek smiled, and he brought up a hand and brushed a thumb over Stiles’ cheekbone. Derek hummed, and leant down to kiss him.

Stiles immediately parted his lips, submitting himself to Derek’s control of the kiss. Derek licked slowly, lazily, into Stiles’ mouth, and it was the unhurried motion of their kiss that worked Stiles up even further. It felt like there was no rush, like there was no time limit on this meeting, like he and Derek had forever to be together, and to explore each other, and that had Stiles feeling more overwhelmed than almost anything else.

Stiles moved his hands, intending to cup Derek’s face, but found them quickly caught by Derek’s, before they were pinned down carefully on either side of Stiles’ head, the kiss not broken for an instant.

Stiles let out an aroused sound he should maybe have been embarrassed of, but it had Derek rocking against him in response, and breaking the kiss to explain, “You like the manhandling,” as though Stiles had forgotten.

“So you did store that one away,” Stiles’ voice trembled, and Derek seemed to shiver, presumably, at the sound of Stiles’ voice, rough and low even to Stiles’ ears. “Well done. You win all the points.”

As though to make his point, Stiles made to twist his wrists and break free, to find himself immobile. A new wave of arousal hit him like a punch, and Stiles panted, licked his lips, and found himself saying, “Derek, I…I want you.”

“Want me how?” Derek pressed, even as his voice, too, went liquid and almost unbearably seductive. “You mean you are ready to…you want me to?”

“I want you inside me,” Stiles decided, “If you are agreeable.”

Derek choked a sound that was both a laugh and a groan, “Agreeable?” He asked, “Yes, yes consider that agreeable. As long as you are sure…”

“Derek,” Stiles said, as they locked gazes, and Stiles tried to convey with his eyes that he was alright. The last and only time they had had penetrative sex was in front of Kate and her fucked up friends for their entertainment, and it had wounded them both. They had been taking things slowly because of it, and because of Kate’s using of Derek, but Stiles felt ready. Gods, he wanted it. He wanted Derek. That night of the party had been awful, for everything other than how safe, and how good Derek had made him feel despite everything. If Derek had made it feel so good then, for show, then Stiles wanted to know how good Derek could make it in private, when both of their consents were clear as crystal, and hot as molten metal. “I want you. I want you, and you want me for some reason, and…”

“Of course I want you,” Derek growled, “You drive me crazy,” His eyes narrowed in a playful way that was rare, and far too attractive to be fair, “In both definitions of the phrase.”

Stiles blinked up at him innocently, “Good to know. I would also like to add that I love you. And I trust you too, by the way. And if I can just request, that we do this face to face, this time at least, because last time…well, last time I didn’t get to see your face. And I like your face quite a lot. Your orgasm face is pretty great.”

“Stiles,” Derek rumbled, “Stop talking.”

For lack of anything else to say, and never one to be told what to do, Stiles said, “Make me.”

Derek’s mouth smashed into Stiles’ immediately. Derek moved one of his hands from where it was pinning Stiles’ in order to bring it to Stiles’ jaw, his thumb at the edge of Stiles’ mouth as they kissed. Stiles decided to leave his freed hand right where it was, and when Derek’s hand moved again and two fingers traced Stiles’ kiss-swollen bottom lip, Stiles took them into his mouth immediately.

Derek jerked his head back, and Stiles watched Derek’s darkened gaze – the hazel-green of his eyes swallowed by pupil – as it flicked between Stiles’ eyes, and his fingers in Stiles’ mouth.

“Shit,” Derek eloquently voiced his thoughts. “Stiles…”

Derek finally let go of Stiles’ other hand, watching how Stiles kept his hands on the bed, on either side of his head where Derek had left them, and he groaned into Stiles’ neck. Derek’s free hand ran down Stiles’ neck, chest and stomach, before taking hold of both of their cocks in one hand.

It was immediately overwhelming for Stiles. He moaned, shaking, and arched into Derek’s grip.

“Derek,” Stiles spoke around Derek’s fingers, and Derek removed them, still moving his other hand over both of them. “I don’t think I’ll last if you…ahh…”

“I know,” Derek pressed a kiss under Stiles’ jaw, “Sorry. I just have to get some lotion.”

And with that he slid off the bed with a feline grace. Stiles finally moved his arms, propping himself up on his elbows and watching Derek move towards the bottles on the table.

“Wait,” Stiles said, “One of those bottles is filled with lubrication? So we do know how to use one of them!”

Derek turned around, and his eye-roll stopped midway, when his gaze fixed properly on Stiles, sprawled out on the bed.

“You didn’t know how to use any of them,” Derek told him firmly, stalking back towards him, and moving back over him immediately, ducking his head to whisper in Stiles’ ear, “But I’m going to show you how to use this one.”

Stiles shuddered, his voice hoarse when he challenged, “Promises, promises.”

“I do promise,” Derek vowed.

And he kept his promise. Derek slicked up his fingers, and Stiles squirmed as Derek slowly worked the first finger in, murmuring in his ear and petting his stomach with his free hand to calm him. Stiles was panting into Derek’s cheek, lips pressed against the light stubble and skin. Derek had fingered him open once before, but that had been rushed for an audience of heathens, and yet it had still felt good once Stiles had become accustomed to it, to Derek. Now, in private, able to be as vocal as they wanted, and Derek able to take his time, it felt a hundred times better. Derek was talented, his fingers, Stiles decided, as Derek slowly worked a second in to him, pumping them gently, scissoring, and finally adding a third as Stiles let out a quiet grunting breath, his fingers were wonderful things.

Stiles told him so, and Derek laughed, light but a little strangled and breathless into his collarbone, “You will like my cock better.”

“Promises, promises,” Stiles teased again, but by the way that he practically moaned it, they both knew that Derek was going to do more than deliver on his promises.

Derek smoothed more lotion over his cock, and braced himself over Stiles, his arm bracketing Stiles’ head. Darkened, beautiful eyes darted over Stiles’ face. Derek was biting his lip, and Stiles reached up a shivering hand to drag it through Derek’s dark hair.

“You ready?” Derek asked.

Stiles hummed, needy and so very ready, “Yes.”

They both groaned as Derek pushed in, his forehead dropping to rest against Stiles’ as he worked himself in inch by slow inch, until he was bottomed out inside of Stiles.

Stiles shifted experimentally. Derek had prepared him well, the burning stretch dissipating as he got used to it. Derek moaned quietly as Stiles moved.

“You ok?” Derek asked, his voice molten and sending shivering sparks across Stiles’ skin.

“Yes,” Stiles said, “Yes, I’m ok. You?”

“More than ok.”

“Good. Please feel free to move, whenever you are ready.”

“How are you still so mouthy?” Derek grinned.

“Well you haven’t fucked me speechless yet.”

Derek rolled his eyes properly this time, leaning in to kiss him quickly, as he pulled out and thrust back in.

It was fair to say, that Stiles found it very hard to form words properly after that, that weren’t moans of Derek’s name, or pleas for one thing or another.

Derek was a gift. A gift that had somehow found his way to Stiles' unworthy hands. Derek's powerful body and stamina meant that he never seemed to tire, his hips moving in some kind of slow, deep, sensual rolling of his hips that had Stiles clutching at the bed sheet and Derek’s shoulders, breath hitching with each thrust, and moving almost embarrassingly quickly towards the edge of a blissful, overwhelming precipice.

The first time Derek hit the spot inside Stiles that made Stiles see stars, he very nearly came, clenching his body and leaving Derek’s breath shuddering. Once Derek knew the right angle, it was relentless pleasure, and Stiles could feel the pressure, the fire building under his skin, building and building.

“Derek,” Stiles gasped, his hand trailing down his stomach to wrap around his own cock. “Derek, I’m close.”

He looked up at Derek to see the other man’s gaze fixed on Stiles and the movements of his hand like there was nothing more important in the world.

“Alright,” Derek breathed, his hips quickening, “Come on, Stiles,” He ducked his head and bit lightly at Stiles’ neck, his ear, “Come for me.”

And Stiles, for once, did exactly as he was told.

He saw white, and Derek, and nothing else, as he shuddered through his release, moaning Derek’s name. Derek followed shortly after, and Stiles was recovered just enough to catalogue how Derek looked when he came.

Derek collapsed over him, catching himself on his arms, and carefully pulling out. Stiles whined at the empty feeling, but Derek flopped down beside him and immediately pulled him into his arms, so Stiles didn’t feel the loss for too long. Stiles’ body was still spasming from the aftershocks, and Derek petted his hair.

“Wow.” Stiles said, once he could make his tongue work. He felt Derek laugh next to him.

A moments silence, and then Stiles was talking again, never one to stay silent for long. “I did good?”

Derek kissed his temple, his cheek, his nose, “You were perfect. You are…” Derek cleared his throat, “You are perfect.”

Stiles turned his head to look at Derek, and Derek was flushed, in a way Stiles hadn’t quite seen before, not meeting Stiles’ eye. “You aren’t too bad yourself,” Stiles felt the need to tell him, taking in Derek’s face. “The best, really. A gift.”

Derek looked up at him then, and smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. No-one had ever looked at Stiles like Derek was looking at him right at that moment, like Stiles was the most beautiful thing they had ever seen. Derek ran his hand down Stiles’ arm to hold his hand. “Thanks, Stiles.”

***

The next two months passed achingly slowly in some ways and terrifyingly quickly in others.

Everything about serving Kate seemed to drain Stiles and it seemed like a lifetime between each time he was allowed to serve and eat in the dining room with Derek and Scott and the others, and the week long wait for his lessons with Deaton and meetings with Derek seemed to take an even longer age. Kate’s meetings with business partners dragged when she made Stiles or Kira or Danny serve for her, waiting at the side of the room. Lord Ithan’s eyes dragging up and down Stiles’ body whenever he had a moment to spare to look over.

The times Stiles actually got to spend with his friends, his Ludus pack; his meals with the Gladiators and Danny, his meetings with Derek, and the time he spent with Kira and Lydia, continuing to teach them to read and write, and helping Lydia through her newfound abilities...all the times that Stiles most cherished, seem to pass in the blink of an eye.

The arena events seemed to come around far too soon. The _Full Moon_ and _Last Quarter Moon_ tournaments came and went. And the only thing that made them any more bearable was that all of his Gladiators survived them, and without any major injury. Scott was back to fighting against Betas, and Kate did not seem hells-bent on getting him killed now that he had a name and the fame. The reputation of the _True Alpha_ had spread, and it was because of Scott’s defiance at his fight at the _Gibbous Games_ that meant that the crowd actually allowed Scott to get away with not killing his opponents, because it was 'what a _True Alpha_ would do'.

In fact, Scott the ‘newbie’ was so old news, that after the _Full Moon_ tournament, Kate went to an auction and came back with a new Were Gladiator. Scott wasn’t the new Were anymore, he was one of the ‘brotherhood’. The new Were was only sixteen, short, but full of a quick temper and burning anger that Kate claimed would be perfect to utilise. He looked harmless, but that anger had strength. Kate had seen how it had worked with Isaac; how his opponents had underestimated him because of a cute face and an innocent demeanour, to then be met unexpectedly by a formidable force. She had seen how successful Isaac had been, and was now aiming for the same success with the new Were. The Were, who Jackson had started calling ‘The Kid’ almost immediately, despite him only being a year or two younger than most of them, was actually called Liam. Sandy haired, light eyed and baby-faced, Scott had warmed to him very quickly, and had straightaway brought him into the group. The others hadn’t seemed to complain, and Liam, who was nervous and had been treated badly at his previous Ludus, seemed grateful for the support and the instant offer of friendship. Despite the odd temper tantrum, that Scott and Isaac seemed to be able to handle better than the others, Liam had been settling in well, and it would not be long before his initiation and branding 'ceremony'.

Over the two months that had passed, Stiles had also discovered that their group of Gladiators and his group of house slaves had somehow figured out about him and Derek. He hadn't thought that he and Derek had been that obvious.

Apart from, he supposed, that time when he and Derek had bantered a little too fondly over the serving table, and Matt had turned towards him after Derek had gone and had said to him, “You two make a pretty good pair.”

And Stiles had thanked him before realising what had happened.

He had tried to stammer a denial afterwards, but Matt had held up a hand with an amused smirk and said, “Don’t worry about it, Stiles. Your secret is safe with me. Promise.”

And then there had also been that time when Stiles had made a particularly spectacular joke at lunch, and everyone had groaned into their hands…probably because of its sheer perfection, and Jackson had turned to Derek and said with exasperation,

“Seriously, Hale? This guy?”

Stiles had stilled. Of the people sitting at the table, Scott, Jackson and Peter had known about him and Derek, but as far as Stiles had known, Danny, Erica, Boyd, Isaac and Liam hadn’t known, or at least had never received verbal confirmation of the fact. But to his bewilderment, none of them seemed at all surprised.

Stiles had been even more amazed when Derek had only looked up at Jackson, and then looked at Stiles with this small, adorable smile on his face like he was pleased with himself, and said, “Yes. This guy.”

Derek had carried on eating, and Stiles had been speechless. Erica had elbowed him and said, “You think we hadn’t noticed? Not exactly subtle, Stilinski.”

And Peter had grinned a shit-eating grin and said, “You are glaringly obvious.”

“Not that obvious,” Derek had shot back quietly.

“Not to everyone, Derek, don’t panic,” Peter had amended with an eye roll, “But it’s obvious to us who know you.”

“To the pack,” Scott had agreed.

It had been Derek’s turn to look stunned, and even Peter had gaped a little, but everyone else had carried on eating without any form of protest or surprise. In fact, there had been murmurs of agreement.

So, no, maybe he and Derek _had_ failed in keeping their relationship a total secret, from their nearest and dearest. But whilst it was no longer a secret to their closest, it was still a secret to those that could cause them a whole lot of grief. Kate, the other Weres, the guards other than Bennett, who was still being paid off, were none the wiser. And whilst Derek and Stiles had nothing to fear from their friends, they knew that keeping it a secret from the rest was a matter of life and death.

Utmost secrecy was also required for any plans of rebellion. This was a plot that all of the Were Gladiators of the _Lupus Ludus_ _were_ privy to. Feelers had been reached out, carefully, sensibly, and it had been a unanimous response in favour of rebellion. If a rebellion was planned, and one was started, the _Wolves_ of the _Lupus Ludus_ would follow. The large group of Weres may have differed in opinion over many things, and were prone to petty squabbles now and again, but they were united in their shared enslavement, and, ultimately, they all wanted to be free.

The rebellion had support. Now there was just the matter of hatching a plan that wouldn't see them all betrayed or killed. But that relied on confirming the location of the collar keys, planning a time and way to steal them, and planning a day and time for rebellion.

Stiles still hadn’t heard from Allison about the potential whereabouts of Derek’s sisters. And although Kira had witnessed what she believed to be Kate retrieving the collar keys from somewhere under her bed, that location was not yet confirmed.

Luckily, Stiles was willing to take a risk for an opportunity to find out.

***

Kate ordered Derek to strip and get on the bed.

Derek tried not to look too closely at the floor space that he could see of the underneath of the bed, where he knew the hiding place of the keys to the Were collars could well be, as he did as he was ordered, and got on the bed.

After a couple of weeks of Kate not calling for him at all, Derek had been beginning to wonder whether she had finally lost interest in him. He had been grateful for the time he had been allowed to enjoy without her attention, but he had also been concerned that that had meant that her attentions would turn to a different slave, who would then have to suffer through what he had.

As it turned out, she was not the slightest bit bored with him. In fact, from the way she suddenly straddled him and whispered in his ear “I bet you have missed me.” he found himself wondering why she even _had_ stopped herself from asking for him for so long. Surely she did not think that he would genuinely miss her?

“Yes, Domina,” he said, because that was what she wanted to hear.

“I thought as much,” Kate murmured at him, running a hand over his chest and down across his stomach. “My champion needs the attentions of his master.”

Her hands were not as nice as Stiles’, he thought. Stiles had longer, rougher fingers, with a strong grip, which could be delicately gentle when they needed to be. Stiles’ hands gave as much as they took. Kate’s hands only took everything from him but pleasure. Stiles’ eyes were darker than Kate’s, a liquid honey, and even his lips were plusher than hers. Everything about Stiles was beautiful, regardless of his clumsiness, which to Derek only made Stiles somehow even more endearing. Stiles was everything that Kate was not. Kate was controlled grace, Stiles was wilder, unwilling to tame or be tamed. Stiles’ skin was paler than hers, his hair short but soft.

He knew what Stiles’ mouth felt like on his cock. He knew what Stiles’ hands felt like. So when Kate wrapped her fingers around him, he only found himself remembering what Stiles felt like, and how good he made Derek feel. Stiles was a quick learner, and dear gods, could he wind Derek up and up until he was near begging for Stiles’ mercy. However, Derek also enjoyed, and possibly enjoyed most, the times where Stiles handed him complete control. Stiles would plead and moan and let Derek manhandle him wherever he wanted. Maybe it was because Kate would allow him no control at all, whilst Stiles would put all his faith and love right in Derek’s hands and trust him to treat him well.

Stiles' body was long and lean, but the compact muscle defined the shape of sweat-beaded skin as Stiles would arch up from the mattress. He tasted of sweat and the spices of the house, and Derek knew that if he did not have his collar, supressing his Were powers, he would be able to smell and taste a unique scent of Stiles. Everyone had a unique scent, and it frustrated Derek that he did not know exactly what Stiles’ was. He knew it would be an intoxicating combination of sweet and sour, a little wild, but with an aftertaste of sweetness, like the honey cakes he would still sneak down to the Ludus for Derek sometimes, regardless of Derek’s half-hearted protests.

“Derek,” Kate’s voice had him lurching back to reality. “What is wrong with you?”

Derek blinked in surprise, zoning back into the room. He met her gaze, which was full of suspicious fury.

He glanced down at where her hand had been working over his cock, and realised he wasn’t getting hard.

“I…” He panicked internally. “I…uhh…I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Kate sneered, utterly unimpressed. She was topless, her breasts pale and more at eye-level than her face was. Her long skirts, which she was still wearing – she did not often get totally naked in front of him - were spread around them over the bed. “Do I not turn you on, Derek?”

“You do,” He said immediately.

“Well, clearly not enough to keep your attention,” Her nails dug suddenly into his thigh, “Your mind seems to be elsewhere. Or on someone else, perhaps.”

Derek shook his head, his heart starting to pick up pace, and not for the first time, Derek was glad that Kate was a hunter and not a Were, because if she had been a Were she would have been able to hear his heartbeat stutter on the lies he told her.

“I always think of you,” Derek said.

Kate did not look at all convinced. “Not always in good ways, I shouldn’t wonder.” She shrugged, and pushed Derek back down to lie on the mattress, their bare chests pressing together. “Because you hate me a little bit too, don’t you? And don’t try to please me by saying that is not so. It turns me on that you hate me, and hate that you want me.” Her hand encircled his cock again. “And you do still want me Derek, even if you do hate me. Because I know you, and I know you are weak to temptation. I know you are weak for me.”

“I do hate you,” Derek said on a whisper, and could not believe he had said the words aloud. Kate actually shivered against him. “I hate how much I…”

Suddenly there was an almighty crash somewhere beyond the door, and Kate pushed up and off him in an instant. The smash was followed by a voice – who was most definitely Stiles – cussing like a tavern-regular outside the door.

Kate looked instantly thunderous. “Wait right there,” She warned, “Do not move.” She slid off the bed, and grabbed a shawl to cover her chest, and stormed her way out of the room.

Derek knew a distraction when he heard one. He had not known that Stiles had even been planning this, and he would most definitely berate him for it later, but Stiles was clearly giving him an opportunity. So he took his chance.

He was immediately off the bed and on the floor, dragging himself underneath to inspect the situation.

Sure enough, there was a small square panel of stone under the bed that did not match the rest of the floor. Derek knocked against it to hear the hollow sound it made. He traced fingers over it, mapping out a small, delicately carved Argent family crest in one corner. It was gloomy under the bed, and he couldn’t see the crest properly, but he had that very symbol branded into his forearm, so he knew exactly what it was. There had to be a latch somewhere to open the panel, but he knew he didn’t have the time to look.

Kate had been shouting, and Stiles’ responses had been too quiet to hear. But she had since stopped shouting, and Derek knew he was out of time.

He scrambled back out from under the bed and was back on the mattress, back in position, by the time Kate marched back in.

“Stupid little fool,” She spat, “He is an absolute waste of space.”

Derek bit his tongue.

“I would have packed him back to Chris, or sold him on to someone like Ithan who likes pretty boys, if he wasn’t as much a challenge that I find I enjoy.” She paused thoughtfully, shedding her shawl, “There is something so damns satisfying about putting him in his place. I will break him, the clumsy little oaf. I will shape him into perfection eventually. I never back down from a challenge. And there is nothing I enjoy more than causing him torment and testing his temper. I see the same hate in his eyes that I see in yours, Derek. And I like seeing him having to hold back.”

Derek could taste blood on his tongue from where his teeth had punctured it from biting too hard. Just hearing her speak of Stiles like that had his stomach turning.

“You know how I like power,” She told him, none the wiser, as she straddled him again. “And I have power. I have control. Because like it or not, you are all mine.” She dragged her nails down his chest, “You all belong to me.”

Her other hand wrapped back around his cock.

“Are you going to show me how much you enjoy being my possession, Derek?”

Derek knew there would be hells to pay if he failed her.

He allowed himself to remember the last time he and Stiles been together on their bed in the room off Deaton’s surgery. Derek had just pulled out of Stiles, and Stiles had moved to lie half on top of Derek’s chest, panting and boneless.

Once he had caught his breath, Stiles had asked him, “Does it feel as good on the top as it does on the bottom?”

“I don’t know,” Derek had admitted, “I have never been on the bottom.”

“I like it. I like having you inside me. It feels…gods it feels so good,” Stiles had said, and Derek was always flabbergasted at how innocently and earnestly Stiles could say the most gods-forsaken arousing things. “But I just wanted you to know, you know,” He had sounded tentatively curious, then, “If you ever wanted to try it, to see what it felt like, well I would be up for it. Even if it was just one time. I would be very up for it.”

“Gods, Stiles,” Derek had heard how strained his own voice had been, because just the thought of it had turned him on to the point of sending a hot flush over his skin.

Derek was not allowed any form of control over Kate and he hated it, but with Stiles, and with consent, it was so very different. Gods, he would let Stiles top him. He would let Stiles do to him whatever he so wished, just as Stiles was apparently eager to let Derek have him in whichever way he wanted.

Unfortunately, Kate could do the same without permission.

Luckily, just the thought of being with Stiles had him successfully hardening in Kate’s grip. Triumphant, Kate picked up where they had left off, without any further questioning of Derek’s bedroom stamina or focus of arousal. Which was definitely for the best.

Derek kept his thoughts on Stiles, before, during and after his and Kate’s completion.

***

Stiles gathered up the last shards of the vase he had purposefully thrown down onto the floor with force, and swallowed a gob of blood and saliva that had built in his mouth.

Kate had stormed towards him down the corridor, as he had knelt on the floor already yammering false apologies about the world’s ugliest vase. Kate had shouted and raged. Kate had kicked him in the face, and he knew that his lip was split and swelling, and there would be bruising around his left cheek and eye for sure. His cheek may have been split as well, as he could feel something moving sluggishly down his cheek, but it could well have been a stray tear. Kate had snarled at him to clear up the mess he had made, and that she would beat the clumsiness out of him. She had promised to deal with him properly later, before spinning on her heel. Kate had done all of those things, but she had also left Derek alone in her bedroom for a good minute or so.

So Stiles did not regret any of it.

He disposed of the pieces of vase. He waited for Derek to emerge from Kate’s rooms without looking like he was waiting, busying himself with half-hearted cleaning.

He had planned to drag Derek into the nearest alcove the moment that Derek came into sight. But he didn’t have to. Derek rushed towards him once he had seen him in the empty corridor, and Derek had been the one to push Stiles into the alcove.

Immediately Derek’s hands were at his face, pressing fingers under his chin to lift his head up.

“Gods Stiles…” Derek murmured, sounding more distraught than he probably should be, as he inspected the damage to Stiles’ face.

“Does it look bad?” Stiles asked.

“It looks painful,” Derek said, clearly unhappy about it. Derek made an aborted movement, and Stiles wondered whether it was a ghost-memory reaction of a born-Were; that Derek naturally wanted to leach pain away from someone else, before remembering that he couldn’t because of his collar.

“I’m ok.”

“She hit you!”

“Kicked me, actually.” Stiles was suddenly crushed against Derek’s chest. “Ouch.”

“Sorry,” Derek said, and Stiles could feel lips pressing into his hair. “I just…I hate seeing what she does to you.”

Stiles was about to mention that what Kate did to Stiles was only a tiny fraction of terrible in comparison to what she put Derek through, but thought better of it. Derek was upset, and pointing that out was likely going to upset him more.

Derek’s fingers pressed cautiously at Stiles’ cheekbone and Stiles hissed through his teeth. Derek’s fingers came away bloody.

“It was planned, you know.”

“Yes,” Derek again did not sound particularly pleased about it, “I thought it was.”

“And?” Stiles asked, pulling away to look up at Derek. “Did it work?”

Derek’s fingers ghosted over Stiles’ split lip, “The keys are kept under the bed,” He confirmed on a breath, as though the walls might hear and tell on them. “I didn’t have time to open it.”

“I will tell Kira. She said if we knew for definite that that was where they were then she would try to open it the next chance she got.”

“I wish you wouldn’t put yourself at the attention of Kate’s anger like that.” Derek was worrying. Stiles could see it.

“It’s for a greater cause, Derek,” Stiles argued softly. “And now we know that there definitely is a safe under her bed. Now Kira can risk sneaking in to see if she can open it. We are one step closer to freedom.”

Derek sighed. “You have admirable optimism.”

“Oh, you only just noticed? I thought my sunny disposition would totally give it away that I…” Stiles was cut off by Derek gently, carefully pressing a kiss to his lips.

“I have to go,” Derek said, “Please don’t purposefully anger her again.”

“Emphasis on the use of ‘purposefully’ is probably for the best, because, you know, even my presence seems to annoy her sometimes.”

“As it annoys most people.”

“Not you though.”

“Well…” Derek elongated the word and trailed off with a smirk, before his face became serious again all too quickly. “Look after yourself. Please.”

Derek was pleading with him to be careful. And although Stiles couldn't promise that he wouldn't get in trouble again, he wasn’t going to take any more stupid risks...unless they were totally necessary, of course.

“I will,” Stiles said, “I will see you soon.”

Derek inspected Stiles’ face one more time, lips pursed as he tilted Stiles' head this way and that, before he backed away into the corridor. It was only then that Stiles saw the bite marks littering Derek’s chest and neck. He didn’t say a word as Derek turned to leave.

Stiles’ face was throbbing, but it had been worth it to learn that the keys were definitely where Kira had thought they would be.

Despite the fact that his face was going to look an absolute mess once the bruises blossomed, he actually had reason to be optimistic.

The feeling was short lived.

Two days later, Gerard Argent came to visit.


	11. Chapter 11

The house slaves formed a line beside the main entrance. Kate inspected them, knowing that her father would do just the same the moment he entered the house. Her father believed that slaves should be seen and not heard, and even then, that they should blend in with the furniture, like the pieces of property that they were. However, like the furniture and the weapons and the condition of the house and the Ludus, her father would perform an initial inspection of everything, to make sure that there were no weak links – no disappointments – spoiling the running of the house and Ludus.

Even though it wasn’t his house and Ludus anymore.

It frustrated Kate to no end that her father had passed the house and Ludus over to her, preferring his home in the South, closer to the political capital, but whenever he came to visit he still strolled back into her home as though he still owned the place. As though he had ultimate control and that his word was still the final one. If he didn’t like her decisions, he would make sure that things changed. He never contradicted Chris like he contradicted her, but she supposed that that was because Chris had branched out on his own and had not wished to stay within the family business as she had.

Her father still felt that he had a say about the running of the Ludus. He was wrong, but it was always best to keep her father onside, and so she humoured him. She would always humour him, because by doing so, it meant that he left her alone again all the quicker.

Her father had not given her much warning for his intended visit. Two days’ notice. It wasn’t that Kate could not easily organise the house and the proposed visit within that time. It simply irked her that her father still thought that he could just call on her whenever he wanted.

She looked at the line of house slaves. The majority looked neat, proper and obedient, attractive and dressed in clean slaves’ uniforms; Danny, Matt and Kira looking just as they should. Lydia still bore the healing marks of the Alpha attack on her chest, stomach and arms, so did not look as agreeable to the eye as usual. She was healing and back on her duties, no longer useless and back to her usual punctual, perfectionist way of carrying out her chores, but unfortunately, she did not yet look quite the part again. Regardless, Lydia looked more presentable than Stiles. Stiles’ face was badly bruised from his punishment for breaking one of her father’s favoured hideous vases; grazes on his cheek and a split in his lip were still visible, and he only had himself to blame for that. If her father decided to punish the idiot boy further for being such a clumsy oaf, then Kate would not stop him.

Kate eyed him, curling her lip. He stared back with that steady gaze that barely hid the roiling hatred that she knew lay just behind it. He often let himself slip, but right now he was composed. It was defiant in a way that infuriated and almost impressed her. He was stupid to even think that he could defy her in any sort of way, but she supposed he had admirable resilience.

“I have trained you all to be the perfect specimens of house slave,” She warned them all, though she never let her gaze leave Stiles, because he would be the only one of them likely to cause her trouble. “Do not disappoint me, or my gods you will regret it. Do not speak or make eye contact with him. Matt, you learned what would happen if you didn’t, last time. I am far too lenient with the lot of you, much more than any of you deserve, and don’t you forget that.”

Stiles’ eyes narrowed fractionally, but he did not move otherwise. She knew that he had been in a room with her father before, back when he had served in Chris’ house, and so he knew exactly what her father was like and what he could do. She didn’t think Stiles would dare disappoint her, out of fear of her father. Her father may have been looking older and frailer in recent years, but he could still out-think and beat the holy hells out of anyone that got in his way.

The slaves stood obedient by the door until her father arrived.

“Katherine,” Her father greeted her.

“Father.”

They exchanged shallow formalities in the face of the servants, both waiting to speak more freely once they were alone and the house slaves had been dismissed.

Her father clasped his hands behind his back, and for the first time cast a cursory glance over the house slaves.

“You have added a house slave.”

“I have, father.”

“This one.” Her father stood in front of Stiles.

“Yes.”

“But I have seen his face before.”

“He was one of Chris’.”

“Ah yes,” Her father said, voice severe, “Stilinski’s son.”

Kate sniffed, ignored his tone, “Yes.”

“His skin is coloured interestingly.”

“He broke one of your vases.”

She was watching Stiles, waiting for a custom flinch, but he did not move a muscle. He was staring straight ahead, avoiding the gazes of both her and her father. She felt a mild satisfaction at the display of submission.

“I punished him accordingly,” She said.

“Good,” Her father replied, his hand suddenly flashing out and grasping Stiles’ face, fingers digging hard into the bruising, “But you may have been too lenient,” Her father continued. “I would have broken his clumsy hands.”

“Then he would be of little use to me as a slave.”

“Which makes you a much fairer Domina than I,” Her father said, before speaking directly to Stiles, “You are lucky to have a roof over your head, boy. You do not know how lucky you are to have had first Lord Christopher’s charity, and now Lady Katherine’s. Clumsiness and childish demeanour will not suit, do you hear? If I hear of you breaking an object of mine again I will cut your fingers off and throw you to the poor house. Understood?”

Stiles did not say anything.

“You have permission to speak,” Her father said, with slow amusement, “You have permission to say ‘Yes Dominus’.”

Kate forced down a scowl. Her father no longer owned the Ludus, so should not be referred to as Dominus. She was the Domina. Her father had no power in the Ludus anymore. In fact, her father should have no power over the punishment of her slaves; he should not be able to threaten her slaves about crushing their hands. She would bring it up with her father away from the eyes and ears of her slaves. Though, she did have to admit that watching Stiles be threatened was rather entertaining.

Stiles visibly swallowed, and murmured, “Yes, Dominus.”

Her father hummed gruffly and dropped Stiles’ face, moving on.

“Kira and Daniel,” her father noted, barely looking at them as he passed. He paused at Matt. “Matthew, I trust you have learnt how to speak only when spoken to? Of course you have, unless you want me to follow through with cutting out your tongue.”

Again Kate forced down a retort. Matt was her slave to punish, not her father’s. On her father’s last visit Matt had spoken out of turn, replying to something that was not supposed to be a direct question, and her father had threatened to cut out his tongue and let him drown in his own blood. Matt was one of her most obedient, and she had despised her father undermining her authority as he had. She would always despise it. But just like Matt, she held her tongue (and wasn’t that the most abhorrent thought; to do the same in action as a slave?) because whilst her father seemed perfectly happy to undermine her authority, undermining the authority of Gerard Argent was rarely a good idea.

“Have you learned your lesson, Matthew? Answer me.”

“Yes, Dominus.”

“I should think so.”

And her father moved on again. He stopped in front of Lydia.

“The one that was attacked by the rogue Were?”

“Yes.”

He reached out and held Lydia’s low-cut slaves’ shift to one side. “Will the scarring be permanent?”

“Deaton thinks it will not scar too badly, but there may be the odd mark.”

Her father tutted. “Pity, such innocent, lowborn looks marred by the hands of a monster.”

Lydia’s face remained pale and pinched, but Kate did not pity her. Lydia was, in the performance of her duties, a good slave, and had always worked hard and efficiently. She was obedient. Or at least, she seemed obedient. Kate had had the growing suspicion over the last few months that Lydia was not as loyal as she appeared. There was something wrong with the girl, something untrustworthy, and that had been _before_ the attack, before she had gotten all jittery and pale and disappointing. That untrustworthiness had been the reason Kate had sent her and Stiles out that night, and ordered Peter to attack one or both of them. The intended death, turning or injury of either of them would have pleased her at that point. Stiles had needed putting in his place, and Lydia had needed to relearn her fearful obedience. Something about them both had been becoming too bold, and they had thought she wouldn’t notice. Kate always noticed. And she had made them both suffer for it.

“A shame,” Kate agreed, without feeling. “Shall we continue on, father?”

Her father seemed impressed with the maintaining of the house. He talked about politics and various allied hunters and nobles. Kate shared her own stories of the strong alliances that she had been making through her role of Domina of the _Ludus Lupus_ and the successes of her Gladiators.

“Ah yes, I heard of that new one,” Her father said, “The _True Alpha_. He was another former slave of Christopher’s, was he not?”

“He was the stable boy.”

“Yes. I remember him.” Her father frowned. “He was attacked by the same rogue Alpha that attacked Lydia and some other lowborn slaves. What has been happening with the hunt for it?”

It was terribly thrilling to be the master of a plot that her father was not a part of. She liked that he was oblivious for once, the one in the dark. He had no idea that Peter had been her personal assassin from almost the moment he gave up the mantle of Ludus Dominus and handed the role over to her.

“There have been hunts. But there has been absolutely no trace of the beast since.”

“You should have tracked and killed it by now. That is highly disappointing, Katherine.”

Kate’s lip curled when her father looked away. “I have been busy training champions, father. I have no time for rogues that the authorities should be able to deal with.”

“Yes, well, we both know they cannot do their jobs properly,” He dismissed, but seemed to be appeased, “I agree, however. You have far more important business to attend to. And the success of the Ludus cannot be denied. I would like to see the Ludus now.”

“Of course, father.”

Her father strolled around the Ludus, inspecting everything, despite the fact that not much about the facilities had changed in the five years since Kate had become Ludus Domina.

Her father spoke to some of the guards whilst Kate directed the Gladiators to line up shoulder-to-shoulder on the sands.

“How many?” Her father asked. She knew all too well that he had counted them the moment he saw them all, but apparently he wanted it confirming.

“Twenty four,” Kate informed him. “Seven Alphas; five male, two female. Seventeen Betas; eleven male, six female.”

Her father walked down the front line, which was formed of the seven Alphas and some of the higher ranked Betas. He paused by some of the notable Weres; Smith, Freya, Marcus, Sasha, Jackson and Boyd.

He actually stopped in front of Derek and Peter, standing side by side, with their shoulders squared and chins lifted, always far too prideful for the status that they had.

“Peter,” Her father acknowledged with one of his trademark arrogant smiles, “Derek. Still here, then?”

Neither of them moved an inch. Not even a twitch. The redundant yet resilient pride of born Weres.

Without expecting or wanting an answer, her father moved on to the second line, comprised entirely of Betas. He walked down the line past Erica and Isaac, Elle, Tomas and the others. He stopped at Scott.

“I know your face,” He said, “You were Lord Christopher’s stable boy.”

Kate actually found Scott glancing at her for instruction. She felt a faint glow of satisfaction by nodding for him to speak. The boy was learning.

“Yes, Dominus,” Scott replied.

“And now the _True Alpha_ ,” Her father said, sounding relatively unimpressed, “How the world changes.”

Scott did not say anything.

Her father moved on until the end of the line. He paused at the last, and only un-branded Were, her new purchase.

“His name is Liam,” She informed her father, “He is my newest.”

Her father clucked his tongue thoughtfully as he grasped Liam’s chin roughly and pulled his head up to inspect him.

“Short,” her father commented.

“But a good scrapper. Packed full of energy and a fiery temperament in a fight. He is far more of a threat than he looks. He will catch his opponents off guard, as Scott and Isaac demonstrate so well.”

“Well make him the last, Katherine,” her father said later, once they were alone again in her study. He sat at her desk – his old desk – like he had never left and Kate hated him for it. “It may have worked with Isaac and Scott but after this new one, they will come to expect it of your fighters. They will think you are a one-trick pony. Keep them on their toes.”

“I have done pretty well with winning scores of tournaments by making my own decisions, father,” She snapped. “And that is testament of my running of this Ludus." She paused, took a moment to calm her anger, "I have actually been considering purchasing some other Supernaturals for the arena; Were-Coyotes are more popular, as are Were-Panthers, and Seb is currently involved in a hunt for a group of Hellhounds..."

"Absolutely not," Her father shut her down immediately and Kate's anger returned instantly at his outright refusal. "Werewolves are the main attraction in the arena, the most long standing breed of Gladiator, and the most popular to be watched. They always have been. The other Supernaturals come and go as mere fads. Argents were made famous through the hunting of Werewolves; the wolf is the crest of our family. Our collars have been expertly adapted to suppress Werewolf powers." Her father fixed her with a look. "We stick to Werewolves. Do not entertain bringing other Supernaturals into the mix, it is a messy, foolhardy business for petty gamblers."

Kate was about to argue, about to fight for her right to do whatever the hells she pleased with her own gods-damn Ludus, when her father's next words had her protest stumbling.

“And whilst we are on the topic, I actually have some concerns to raise with you regarding your running of this Ludus." Her father leant forward, bracing his arms before him on the desk. His face was stony and displeased. "Three concerns, to be exact.”

“Oh please, father,” Kate growled, her defensiveness rising in the face of such insult, “Do tell.”

“One,” Her father began immediately, his face severe, his tone angry and brooking no argument. It was the dark bubbling threat in his tone that reminded her, and often reminded his family, and his friends and his enemies, that this was not a man to cross. “I know that you set up that 'mix-up' which led to a fight between Scott and one of Jonah’s Alphas with, assumedly the intention of Scott's failure and death. I do not know why you fixed it, and I do not care to know why. But if anyone else discovers your rigging of fights, and your petty games with the Gladiators, then our reputation will plummet. Never, ever do that again within the arena walls. Within the Ludus? Fine. But not in the arena.” He paused. “Your actions within the Ludus, however, are the focus of my second point. There are rumours, Katherine. There are rumours regarding your ‘obsessions’ with your Gladiators. That you bed them. That you bed one in particular. Are these rumours true?”

“No,” Kate denied immediately; thinking of how Derek did not get hard for her immediately, the last time she fucked him. His performance had been substandard. He had been far away. And her stomach had twisted with venom at the sudden suspicion that Derek had found himself caring for something – or someone – else, more than he cared about his duty to her. The thought that Derek had been secretly trysting in the Ludus, fucking one of the females in the Gladiator’s cells, had had her alight with a jealous fury. But she had hidden it, for the sake of maintaining the fact that, regardless, Derek was still hers. Still hers and nobody else’s. He could try to get away from her, but he would always, always be hers. He could fuck anybody he liked – or anyone she liked - and he would still be hers. And all the while she would maintain the fact that she did not care for him in the slightest.

“No. They are not true. They will have arisen due to my hosting of a couple of intimate parties, in which guests have been allowed to get more closely acquainted with some of the Gladiators. I know you do not approve of those kind of parties father, but you cannot deny the close allies and fortune I have made for the Ludus from them. The rumours will have been started by jealous vipers that did not deserve an invitation.”

“You are right,” her father, unimpressed, “I think those parties are disgusting. No human should want to lay with a Were. Laying with a house slave, Gladiator or any other kind of Supernatural is abhorrent. It’s not natural.” He sighed heavily, “But I suppose the success with which it can draw new allies and earn money cannot be denied. It is a useful tool. I just cannot fathom how it has come to be this way, how people desire such things.”

Kate refused to think of Derek’s naked body. How she loved to push his head down between her legs. How she pulled on his collar and knew that whilst he was wearing it he was as defenceless as any human man, muscles aside, and that if she unlocked that collar, of the creature it would release. There was a danger there, a thrill, as well as the joy she gained from degrading a creature with such supernatural strength, to a sweaty, self-loathing mess on her sheets. Her father just did not appreciate the sort of power that Ludus owners could wield like she did. He wanted power in other ways. But this was how she wanted to display her power, how she liked her power.

“And lastly, word has reached me that you allowed a Gladiator to fuck a house slave in front of an audience,” Her father continued, “Is this true?”

“Yes.”

Her father frowned, “House slaves should not be degraded like that, it makes them no better than prostitutes, and I will not have whores working in my house.”

“It is _my_ house now, father.”

“Oh yes, my apologies, _your_ house. In _my_ house I would not whore out the house slaves, which are supposed to be seen but never as anything more than an accessory, and never touched. Neither would I ever allow a Were group to form within _my_ Ludus. But it is _your_ Ludus, so maybe you can explain to me why you have allowed that very thing to happen?”

Kate blinked, stunned and outraged. “What do you mean? You are referring to it like it were some kind of pack? Packs can’t form within a Ludus environment.”

Her father scoffed, “I know that, Katherine. But a group, with strong bonds with each other, can be just as dangerous. One of the guards told me that a group of Weres sit together with a couple of your house slaves at meal times. What is the meaning of this?”

“That is not my doing,” Kate snapped back shrilly, “It was you that made the deal to buy Jackson, which included the stipulation that allows Danny to see Jackson at meal times for good behaviour, and Chris who made the deal for Stiles to do the same with Scott. You two applied those rules, not me.”

“But it is you that has allowed a group to form around them. Which ones gather together? Tell me.”

“Peter Hale, Derek Hale, Scott McCall, Jackson Whittemore, Vernon Boyd, Erica Reyes, Isaac Lahey…” Kate listed off slowly. Of course she knew of the group. She had known about it from the moment that Erica, Boyd and Isaac had first decided to sit themselves with Scott and Stiles all those months ago. She had known when Jackson and Danny had somehow decided to join them, and then when the Hales had followed.

“The house slaves Danny and Stiles,” She added, “And now the new Were Liam Dunbar.” They had drawn Liam into their numbers almost as soon as he had arrived. She knew that too.

She knew it all.

Some of her guards had been concerned at first and had expressed those concerns to her. They were nervous, that _The Defeater of Death_ , _The Undefeated Alpha_ , The _True Alpha_ , the _Kanima_ , the _Ice Wolf_ , _Catwoman_ and _Gravedigger_ had all started making friends.

But her guards were cowards, and Kate knew better. Yes, it was preferred that the Gladiators stayed apart when they were off the training grounds, but Kate did not mind it when they apparently made friends. Because inevitably, some of the Gladiators would die. That was why Weres were reluctant to make friends in Ludus environments. For creatures that relied so much on packs and pack bonds, the idea of getting close to another Were, forming those attachments - even sans-powers because of their suppressive collars - only to lose them in the arena, was something many Gladiator Weres seemed to fear, and so avoided the pain entirely by keeping to themselves. She let some Weres make friends if they wanted to, because she knew that they would, at some point, learn the lesson of making attachments in a Ludus environment and would not do it again. It was a learning curve all Gladiators faced.

She had not been concerned, therefore, when she had first heard reports that Erica, Isaac and Boyd had become near-constant companions, because she knew that one of them would soon die, and that the others would then learn that lesson. But none of them had died as expected, and so the threesome had been the longest running friendship in the Ludus by the time Scott McCall arrived and made things even more unusual. Scott had not learned loss either, and Kate wanted to see him hurt, so she had let that happen too. But she had had to admit that she _had_ been surprised when Derek, Peter and Jackson had joined the group too. Those three Weres knew the loss of other Were Gladiators. They should have wanted absolutely nothing to do with the little group. But again, she let them get on with it. If Derek, Peter and Jackson had not learned as they should have the first few times, then she would teach them again. She let them form their mealtimes group, their attachments, because she knew that realistically Scott would not last much longer in the arena (reputation or not, the novelty would pass), or there might be a slip-up in the arena that meant one of the others would die, and then they would all learn the collective pain of giving in to their animal instincts to form attachments.

It had all been part of a long-running lesson to teach them all that Gladiators didn’t get to have friends that lasted.

Her father did not seem impressed with her tactic, not that she was particularly surprised. She explained her reasons to him, clipped words to remind him that it was no longer his place to question her decisions concerning the Ludus, but she had not even finished her argument before he started to shake his head.

“I don’t like it, Kate,” He said, tone final, “Unity like that will give the other Gladiators ideas. And unity like that is what sparks rebellion. The odd friendship pairings are inevitable, but a group like that can be dangerous, particularly with born Weres like the Hales at the helm. Shut it down. Split them up. I don’t care how you do it, but do it. Or so help me I will step in and do it for you.”

“It will be no hardship to do it father, do not make it sound like it would be. Don’t you dare think that I have gone soft, or care for any of those animals. I just did not think it a concern.”

“Then you still have much to learn.”

Kate stood up abruptly, fuming, “Then maybe you want to take the Ludus back? Is that it? Are you usurping me? Because I swear that every single thing you say is contradicting every decision I have made with…”

Her father looked unaffected when he interrupted, “Oh do sit down, Katherine. I am not looking to take back the Ludus. Whilst I am dubious of your ‘parties’ and of how close the slaves appear to be with each other, you have undoubtedly gained many allies, and have a record number of champions. That cannot be denied. And I also hear that you have finally managed to attract young Allison into taking her hunter training seriously, and for that I congratulate you. Chris and Victoria have failed her totally so far in that regard.”

Kate could not help but feel a slight swell of pride. It was true. She had gotten through to Allison about the importance of hunters where no-one else – not even Victoria – had succeeded. Granted, Kate had had knowledge of Allison’s relationship with Scott, and had played that to her advantage, but she had still got the girl interested, determined and vengeful towards Weres, after her loss of Scott; training with intention rather than for fun, and Kate had finally gotten her feeling anti-Supernatural.

Allison was a good student. She was a keen hand with weaponry, and a better archer than most Kate had ever seen. Her niece knew the theory and the lore already, so Kate only needed to focus on bending that knowledge in any which way she liked; so that it could be used against Supernaturals and not for them. In fact, Kate had enjoyed spending so much more time with Allison. It had allowed Kate to feel a little more free-spirited, and Allison enjoyed Kate’s bold humour. It was a relatively welcome change to spend time with someone who wasn’t a slave, a potential ally, an enemy, or her father or brother, who really did like to nag.

Christopher and Victoria had been taken aback by Allison’s change of heart, but not unhappy about it by any means. Despite Chris’ concerns as to exactly why Allison no longer wanted to visit Scott and had so suddenly become more devoted to training, Kate knew that he was secretly pleased to see a continuation of family tradition. Victoria had expressed her gratitude to Kate, and had been thrilled to finally see her daughter’s devotion to her hunter heritage.

After over two months of regular lessons and training, Kate, Chris and Victoria had decided to gift Allison with the Argent necklace. One of a set of family heirlooms, it had a silver pendant, on which the unique Argent crest was carved in relief. Kate had shown Allison her own identical necklace, and Allison had excitedly recognised it to be of the same make as her mother’s brooch, her father’s bracelet and her grandfather’s pocket watch. Allison had worn it with pride ever since, and Kate had been more than pleased to continue to craft Allison into a fierce, unforgiving warrior, the next generation of Argent; a younger replica of Kate herself.

“Allison is training very well indeed, father,” Kate said, “You will be impressed when you see her. She has grown, both in body and maturity since you saw her last. She is a young lady now, and a young warrior.”

“I look forward to seeing her. She will be at the _Harvest Moon_ tournament, will she not?”

“She will.”

“Good,” Her father nodded. “And who is hosting the after-party of the tournament?”

“It has not been decided,” Kate said, slowly, trying to work out her father’s hinting tone. “But I can offer the villa as the venue, to celebrate your visit, if you wish.”

“That would be most satisfactory, Kate, thank you.”

Kate narrowed her eyes. “You used to dislike throwing parties. What is your game, father?”

“It is not I who will be hosting the party though, will it?” Her father said, “That is your role now. I am merely a…” He paused thoughtfully, “An honoured guest.”

“Oh?” Kate took the intended bait, “And what does the honoured guest get to control?”

“Why, a role in the evening’s entertainment, of course. I will have none of your ‘private’ shenanigans here, Katherine. I have something much more interesting in mind.”

Kate gained a not-entirely-unwelcome flash-memory image of Derek fucking Stiles into the carpet at her last private party. Her parties were the most talked about parties in the north. She was about to say so, but there was something in her father’s expression, something about the way that he had said it, that she could not help but wonder what it was that he had planned.

“And what is that?” She asked, eventually.

Her father smiled.

***

Lydia was screaming.

Stiles woke abruptly, suddenly hearing her loud and clear and shrill through the wall.

It was a louder scream than her had ever heard her produce.

He vaulted out of bed, ignoring Danny and Matt, who had woken with the noise, mumbling in half-conscious confusion, as he slammed out of the room. He jerked with surprise as he collided immediately with Lydia, who was running down the corridor.

He caught her and frantically grasped her by the forearms to keep her still, even as she attempted to push past him. Her hair was wild, locks dangling in her pale, sweating face.

“Lydia,” He hissed loudly. “What in the hells are you doing?”

“I have to get to Derek, Stiles!” She babbled, desperately, urgently, “I saw such…gods…such awful things. Boyd and Derek, Stiles, I have to warn them!”

She tried to move again and actually managed to push him back a few steps.

Stiles glanced over Lydia’s shoulder to see Kira lurking at her and Lydia’s bedroom door in the shadows, keeping back, but watching alertly for anything Stiles could not handle. He appreciated her silent support.

“You can’t. What are you going to do? Go down into the Ludus?” He asked, bewildered, “I don’t think so!”

“I have to see Derek!” She said again, angrily. “Please! You don’t understand! I have to see Derek! I…” Lydia stopped suddenly, her eyes open wide and staring. Her breath seemed stolen from her lungs.

“Lydia?” Stiles asked. “What is…”

He realised suddenly that Lydia was no longer looking at Stiles, but staring past him, down the corridor. Stiles flicked his gaze to Lydia and Kira’s bedroom door to see that Kira had disappeared back into the room. He then took a short, sharp breath and turned around to look down the corridor towards the main house, to see what Lydia was staring at in such horror.

Kate was standing at the end of the corridor, only just lit up by the candles in the first hall. She didn’t say anything. She was just standing there, watching them.

Time seemed to stretch, and Stiles did not know how long they stood there for.

“Lydia,” Stiles whispered eventually, when Kate made no move to say or do anything. “Lydia, go back to bed.”

Lydia nodded slowly, like her limbs had been replaced by lead metal. “Ok.” The word rushed out of her on a murmur, strangled and fearful. “Ok.”

Lydia turned around and woodenly walked back into her room.

Stiles expected Kate to say something – anything – as Lydia drew further and further away. He expected her to scream and beat them and demand answers. He did not know how much of their conversation she had heard. He did not know if she had been drawn by Lydia’s scream.

And then it was just him and Kate standing staring at each other.

He edged towards the door of his own room, and she watched him, her eyes too far away to read in the dark.

But again, she said and did nothing. Not even when he shut the door behind him, leaning against it and letting out a terrified shudder.

“Stiles?” Danny asked him quietly, staring through the semi-dark at whatever horrified expression was fixed on Stiles’ face.

Stiles was too nervous to break the silent tension. He waved Danny’s concern aside and crawled into his bed, drawing his sheet up over his head, and even then not feeling any safer.

He had absolutely no idea what had just happened, but he had the disturbing dread in his chest that promised him that it would one day come back to haunt them.

***

Stiles had dreaded the repercussions of Lydia’s episode. He had dreaded them, but for some reason that Stiles still remained highly suspicious of, they never came. The next morning, Lydia had not even remembered what it was that she had seen in her dreams. She did not know why she had been so desperate to speak to Derek, but she _had_ remembered Kate seeing her and Stiles in debate in the corridor in the middle of the night, and Stiles and Lydia had gone about their duties that day with bated breath. Kate, however, had acted as though it had never even happened. She did not mention it, and she did not look at them or speak to them any differently.

Kate may have been acting like it had never happened, but Stiles knew that that did not mean that she had forgotten. Stiles was very aware of the fact that, as she hadn’t immediately demanded answers or punished them, that she was keeping what she had seen, or whatever she had heard, locked away. She could use it as ammunition or blackmail. She could be waiting for her father to leave before she confronted them. Stiles did not know why there had not yet been repercussions, but he knew all too well that that did not mean that they were not coming. Maybe Kate wanted to keep them scared and wary for a while, and let them stew in it as a part of the punishment. If that was the case, then it was working.

Stiles had been on his very best behaviour since Gerard Argent had come to visit. Unwilling to have Gerard follow through on his threats to break or cut off fingers, or cut out tongues, Stiles was trying additionally hard to be the cause of no problems, attention or wrath. It had worked thus far; Gerard ignored the existence of all the house slaves so long as they were not doing anything to incur said wrath. Kate hadn’t even complained to Stiles about him being ‘shoddy’ or ‘useless’. He assumed it was maybe a part of whatever fear she was trying to instil in him over the Lydia incident.

Or maybe it was to do with something else.

At the _Harvest Moon_ tournament, Kate told Stiles that he would not be helping Deaton, as Stiles had done at the last three tournaments, but that he would be serving Lord Ithan, as Lord Ithan was without a server for the day, due to a suspiciously well-timed sickness bug that had apparently stricken a number of his house slaves.

Stiles had been unable to complain, or demand to be in the recovery room with Deaton instead. Stiles was in no position to make demands.

And so Stiles had endured serving at the _Harvest Moon_ tournament, on the VIP balcony with Allison having to ignore him, still playing her role of dutiful Argent to deceive her Aunt, and with Chris and Victoria, with Gerard Argent, with Kate looking irritatingly smug, and Lord Ithan’s eyes trailing over him, his fingers purposefully brushing Stiles’ hand whenever Stiles held out a glass or a tray of delicate pieces of fruits and cakes.

The theme of the _Harvest Moon_ tournament that year had been designated to ‘Alpha Gladiators only’. Kate had made a cruel comment about considering Scott to fight just because of his new Gladiator name. It had been an unsuccessful attempt to rile Stiles up, and he had only just held back from trying to throw a piece of cutlery at her head and hoping that the fancy silver knife embedded itself there. But ultimately, regardless of her airy threats, no Betas were allowed to fight that day. So he had only had Derek and Peter to worry about that day.

Derek and Peter had survived the tournament, unsurprisingly, but, as usual, Stiles thanked whatever gods were listening, anyway. At the end of Derek’s fight, he saw Derek salute towards the balcony as always, and although it was supposedly for Kate, Stiles knew that Derek now saluted for him.

The tournament had been tough to watch, as always, but with a lessened amount of Weres to personally worry about, Stiles hated to admit that he had found himself watching more of the fights than usual. The tournament had showcased the _Alpha Pack,_ belonging to the Argent’s friend Jonah. Stiles had not seen most of them fight before, but he had heard of the main ones. The famous ones. Even he, who had not been a frequenter of tournaments until becoming Kate’s slave, had heard of Deucalion, the blind _Demon Wolf,_ who fought with a focused ferocity that Stiles had never seen in any fight before. There were others too, that Jonah talked about to the Argents during the fights, other familiar names ringing recognition in Stiles’ mind, presumably having heard them whilst standing in the background of so many of Kate’s conversations; _The Twins_ Aiden and Ethan, Kali the _Claws,_ and Ennis _The Giant._

Although Stiles had watched most of the fights, there had been no sign of the Alpha from the Gibbous Games that had been pitted against Scott, lost and then allowed to live after Scott’s refusal to kill him. Stiles wondered what had happened to him.  Maybe he was disgraced, now. Maybe he was dead. Maybe Scott hadn’t taken his life directly, but the Alpha had not been allowed to live after he had returned to his Ludus. Stiles hoped Scott had not given thought to it, even as Stiles speculated a number of equally unpleasant fates for the shamed Alpha.

The _Alpha Pack_ Alphas had won all of their fights, and Jonah had told Kate that he intended to celebrate ‘to the fullest’ at her party that evening.

And that was exactly what he was doing.

Stiles watched Jonah down another goblet of wine, swaying towards Gerard Argent and informing Gerard that blinding the _Demon Wolf_ had been the most genius thing Gerard had ever done.

Stiles tried not to curl his lip, and averted his gaze.

The party had been going on for a couple of hours.

Ludus owners and the elite of society milled around the main rooms of the villa, lounging on cushions or chaises, drinking wine and nibbling at bite-size food. Chris and Victoria were across the room, making small talk with a local politician. Gerard appeared very happy in the glowing praise that was being bestowed upon him by a drunken Jonah.  Allison was not there. She had not been permitted, and was back at her home with Melissa and Chris’ other house slaves. Stiles knew that Gerard had not been keen to stay at Kate’s villa overnight in the aftermath of the party, so would be departing with Chris and Victoria once they decided to leave and spending the night there. Stiles was actually looking forward to an evening out of Gerard’s hawk-like observation.

But Gerard’s departure was hours away yet. The party was just getting started. Gladiators had been brought up from the Ludus to draw attention from elite guests and envy from other Ludus owners. Peter was not there, as ever considered too dangerous to be amongst guests. Scott was not there either, still not trusted enough as a relatively new Were, which Stiles was thankful for. But Derek was there, and Boyd, Erica, Isaac and Jackson. It was hard to look at them when they were being displayed like that, like pieces of meat, or prize ornaments. But at least this was the kind of party that would not end up with Gladiators being led off to bedrooms by the highest bidders. Gerard apparently despised parties such as that. Stiles attempted to make eye contact with his Gladiator friends, but not one of them would look his way. He understood why, remembering the last party, at which he had become a spectacle for the crowd, and how humiliating it had been, and so stopped trying.

“Stiles,” A voice suddenly said, very close to his ear.

Stiles attempted not to jump and send drink glasses scattering, “Yes, Domina?”

He could hear Kate’s smug smile in her voice, “Follow me, please.”

Finally, Stiles saw Derek’s eyes flick in their direction, and stay. “Yes, Domina.”

He felt Kate’s presence move away from him. Derek’s expression had barely changed, but Stiles knew him well enough to see that his eyebrows had taken on the slightest tilt of concern. Stiles sent him a lightning-quick, reassuring smile, and turned to follow Kate.

Kate led him to her office, which was attached to her rooms. Stiles faltered slightly at the sight of the empty room, bar Kate and Lord Ithan, who was seated on the grand couch that sat at a right angle to Kate’s large wooden desk.

Stiles recovered his falter, and moved a little further into the room. “Domina?”

“Stiles,” Kate acknowledged with a grin as arrogant as Ithan’s gaze was lecherous, “Yes. Ithan would like a drink please. Serve it to him.”

Stiles did as told, moving toward Ithan and holding the tray down to Ithan’s seated-height. Ithan selected a glass, though Stiles could feel his gaze constant on Stiles’ face.

“Stiles,” Ithan greeted, with a smile, “You did an excellent job of serving me today. Please, sit.” Ithan patted the couch next to him.

House slaves were not permitted to sit on furniture in the main house, and the last thing Stiles wanted to do was sit down next to Lord Ithan. He looked at Kate warily.

Kate smirked at him, “Stiles, obey Lord Ithan.”

Stiles tried not to glare at her, and sat, perched as far away from Lord Ithan as the small couch would allow.

Ithan was like Kate in many ways. They were both power-grasping and cunning. They seemed to be building a friendship based on evil plans and being cruel to slaves. Also like Kate, Ithan was not an unattractive individual in looks; brunet hair and grey eyed, he looked a similar age to Chris Argent or to what Stiles’ own father would have been if he were still alive, but like Kate, Ithan was poisonous and twisted within, and it made any outward appearance just as terrible. His gaze was cold and constantly watching. He had a taste for Stiles that Stiles could not and did not want to understand.

Stiles was tense, waiting for something to happen, but Ithan and Kate only started up a conversation, now completely ignoring his presence.

They discussed the tournament, going back over a couple of favoured fights, which Stiles zoned out of, his wrist growing tired of holding the drinks tray.

“The party is a great success already, Katherine,” Ithan told Kate, “And I hear the entertainment has scarcely begun.”

This immediately drew Stiles back into the room. Doubts began circling in his head, and worry bubbling away in his veins, as he remembered what had happened the last time Ithan had attended one of Kate’s parties. Derek and Stiles had been forced to have sex in front of them all for their ‘entertainment’.

“It is not that kind of entertainment, Ithan,” Kate said, her tone warning.

And then Ithan’s hand came up to stroke quickly down the back of Stiles’ neck. Stiles froze. “Pity,” Ithan said. “I recall Stiles was the star of the show last time. Well, he and your champion, of course. Is there no chance that when the guests depart tonight that you would not consider loaning out your champion?”

“Not tonight,” Kate said again firmly.

Stiles tried not to shudder as Ithan’s hand came to rest at the base of his neck, fingers carding through the shorter hairs on the back of Stiles’ head.

Stiles could feel Kate watching them. He could feel Kate’s amusement and he hated her.

“I will organise another party soon,” Kate promised, “And I may even introduce a few new Gladiators to the mix.”

“I think you should definitely consider the Were boy Isaac,” Ithan responded enthusiastically. “He is lovely.”

“You prefer them young and lean,” Kate observed.

Ithan’s thumb made a circular movement on Stiles’ skin, “Can you blame me?” There was a pause. “And what of the _True Alpha_? When will we see him?”

Talk of Derek and Isaac had been bad enough (it was sickening to Stiles that people had talked of Derek in that way so much that Stiles was actually able to control his reactions to it now) but at mention of Scott, Stiles’ whole body tensed.

Ithan shushed him absently, his hand petting his shoulder. “Stiles seems upset,” Ithan commented.

Kate glared at Stiles sharply. “He and the _True Alpha_ were house slaves together in my brother’s household.”

“Ah,” Ithan said. “Still a little jumpy, isn’t he, this one?”

“I am teaching him.”

“I am sure you are,” Ithan murmured. Stiles knew Ithan was watching him again, studying him. Stiles kept his gaze fixedly forward. “And you are _sure_ that Stiles isn’t for sale? I would pay a generous price.”

“My brother would not be pleased. So no, not at the moment. However, if I one day tire of him, or he falls out of my brother’s favour…”

Stiles glanced frantically at Kate, and he knew he shouldn’t be showing panic, but he could not help it. She was watching him, pleased and knowing. She was doing this to teach him, to scare him, to punish him.

It was working.

“Then he is all yours,” Kate finished.

“I will hold you to that,” Ithan said.

Stiles’ whole body was chilled to the bone at the threat just issued, apart from the spot where Ithan finally removed his hand, which burned like he had been branded all over again.

“Do.” Kate stood, brushing out her skirts. “Shall we go back through for the main event?”

***

Derek was not surprised when Gerard Argent requested some mock-fights between the Gladiators for the up close and personal experience and entertainment of the guests. It had been a favoured event by Gerard at parties whilst he had still been Dominus of the Ludus. Derek had performed them before. It was like the demonstration fights he used to train new Gladiators; like the demonstration weapon-skills he and Peter had been showing Liam only that morning. It was all slow tackling and parrying with swords and dramatic flourishes.

Several fights had been and gone; Erica against Elle, and Jackson against Isaac, and Derek had half-watched the fights, letting his attention drift about the room. He had seen Stiles return to the room, trailing after Kate and Lord Ithan. Derek’s lip had threatened to curl, and he had sought Stiles’ gaze. Stiles had nodded to him, letting him know that he was alright.

Once Kate and Ithan had returned, and the audience had become entirely focused on the mock fights, Derek had also seen Kira start to move, slipping unnoticed with her empty food tray towards the door. He knew what she was going to attempt to do; taking advantage of the distraction of the party, she was going to see if Kate’s rooms were guarded, and if not, whether it was possible to get to the keys that Kate kept under the floor under her bed. Kira met his eyes briefly and nodded with an awkwardly sly grin, before she disappeared out of the door. He prayed to whatever gods still cared for the welfare of Weres and Supernaturals that Kira was successful on her quest. If she was, then they would be one step closer to freedom.

But he had no more time to dwell on it, and hope that Kira was not discovered missing, or found in or near Kate’s rooms, because at that moment Jackson ‘won’ his fight against Isaac, his sword hovering at Isaac’s neck. Gerard gave the mock-fight thumbs-up, and the crowd erupted into applause. Kate then announced that Derek and Boyd would be fighting each other next, and Derek was again, not surprised. He knew Gerard would save him for the last fight, because whether Gerard liked him or not, he was _the_ _Undefeated Alpha._ The champion that the guests wanted to see.

As Derek and Boyd moved to their positions on the stage cleared for the fighting, Derek cast his eyes once more across the room, and found his gaze settling on Lydia in confusion. She looked suddenly pale, ghostly pale, and wide-eyed with shock. She was edging across the room towards where Stiles was standing at the back of the room. Derek frowned, but had no time to question it.

He and Boyd faced each other, picked up the blunted swords, and prepared to fight.

“Hold on a moment,” Gerard said, and the room fell silent and still, the excited chatter of the guests stopping instantly. “I think we should make this one a little different, a little more dangerous. Don’t you?”

The crowd murmured an agreement.

“Good idea, father,” Kate agreed. She turned to her guards and nodded.

The guards in the room all moved to stand around the platform amongst the guests, weapons at the ready.

“Let’s let them shift, shall we?” Kate asked the guests, “And let you all see the Weres Beta Shift up close?”

Again there was the excited chatter of agreement from the crowd.

Derek stood uncertainly still as four guards came forwards to remove his and Boyd’s collars. Gerard and Kate had clearly planned this together, and Derek was becoming less and less trusting towards the intentions of the evening’s entertainment.

It also meant, Derek realised, as the keys were used to unlock his collar, that if Kira _had_ made it into Kate’s rooms, that if she got into the safe under the bed, that the keys would not even be there. Not that she would have been able to take the keys right at that moment even if she had wanted to, as the rebellion was not planned, but it still disheartened him.

Derek looked at Boyd, concerned as to the unusual change of events, but was met with the usual calm, unruffled manner that Boyd held towards everything. Boyd gave him the tiniest hitch of a shrug, as though to say ‘don’t ask me’, and pulled a face. Derek allowed himself a smile.

It was just a shift for show, that was all. And so, when the guards had stepped back with their collars and Kate ordered them to, Derek and Boyd slipped into Beta Shift, and began their mock battle. They duelled with swords and claws, but stopping before any harmful contact, as was the norm.

Boyd was a composed Beta, and a highly talented Gladiator, and so he made for a good opponent, both on the sands and in a fake fight. But Derek had played these games before, so he had an upper hand. It took a good five minutes or so, but eventually, with a twisting dodge and a pounce, Derek had Boyd on one knee, with Derek’s blade resting against his ribs.

Derek grinned through his fangs, exhilarated, because it felt like how he had play-fought with his brothers back before the fire. It had been fun, faux-fighting with a Were that was a part of their Ludus group, a Were he now thought of as a good friend. Boyd smirked sheepishly back up at him, his yellow Beta eyes rolling exasperatedly for a moment at Derek’s triumph.

The audience were applauding.

Derek moved back to help Boyd to stand, but then as quickly as it had risen, the applause died.

Derek looked up, confused by the sudden quiet, and then his eyes fell on Gerard.

Gerard’s thumb was pointing downwards.

Derek balked, moving his sword away from Boyd as Boyd stood up beside him. Derek turned to stare at Kate.

Kate was watching her father, and she looked genuinely shocked. He could see Stiles and Lydia behind Kate; Lydia’s face was even paler that it had been before the fight had started, contrasting starkly with her red hair, she was clutching at Stiles, whose gaze was fixed on Derek with a frightened, furious alarm.

“Go on then, _Undefeated Alpha,_ ” Gerard said, and his voice carried clear across the room. “Destroy your opponent.”

***

Kira celebrated silently at the discovery that all of Kate’s guards had been called to the mock fights, and that Kate’s rooms, for once, were without security. She wasted no time in entering the room, treading on practiced, silent footsteps, her eyes burning orange as she used her Kitsune powers to see through the darkened rooms.

She had told Stiles of her plans to slip away during the party, certain that this was a rare opportunity in which she would possibly be able to enter Kate’s rooms whilst Kate and her household were distracted. Kira was thrilled to learn that she had been correct.

Now that she knew for sure where the keys were kept, it made her job quick and easy. She moved straight to Kate’s bed, and dropped to the floor, moving her whole body underneath it, just in case a stray guard or guest decided to wander in.

She used her enhanced vision to find the square section of flooring that broke the pattern of paved stones, the Argent family crest lightly carved into one corner of it, and braced herself over it, the top of her head brushing the bottom of the bed frame above her. She then poked and prodded at the square, trying to figure out how it worked.

She traced her fingers over the piece of stone, feeling for anything abnormal, any indication of an opening mechanism. Unsuccessful, she growled to herself in annoyance and looked up, thinking of what she could try next. It was then that her eyes caught on a small lever on the wall, between the legs of the head-end of the bed.

She gritted her teeth in triumph, and crawled forwards. After a quick word to her gods for some alarm or trap not to be triggered, she pulled the lever downwards and closed her eyes.

Nothing bad happened; no alarm sounded, no-one came running, no weapon had been sprung to trap her. Instead, the square stone moved, sliding aside as though on tiny wheels.

Kira moved over it again, and looked into the space that the stone had moved from.

She cursed under her breath when she was met with a solid piece of metal, and absolutely no way to open it. All that adorned the safe was another more deeply engraved shape of the Argent crest; the one that was branded on all of Kate Argent’s house slaves and Gladiators. The crest was in the centre of a circled outline, and Kira assumed that there was some key to open the safe, some key shaped like the Argent crest. Immediately, Kira thought of the Argent heirloom necklace that Kate wore around her neck at all times. That was it then; that was how they were going to have to open the safe to get the keys. The key to the safe was the necklace around Kate's neck. It seemed, at that moment, to be an absolutely impossible task. But maybe Stiles or Lydia or Derek would know of a way.

Kira pushed the lever back up, closing the stone panel, and retreated out of the room, leaving absolutely no trace that she had ever been there.

She did not know whether her discovery would be taken as bad or good news by the others. They would have been naïve to hope that it would be a simple mission, but they had spoken about it realistically. She hoped, therefore, that she wouldn’t be the bearer of bad news. They would be more knowledgeable than they had been because of what she had found, and they would just have to figure out how to move forward from there.

She slipped back into the hall where the guests were congregated, hoping that she hadn’t been missed, and already looking for Stiles to let him know that she had been both successful and unsuccessful, but upon entering the room, she realised that something was wrong.

She hadn’t been missed, because something even worse seemed to be happening.

The room was silent and still. Derek and Boyd were standing side by side in the mock-fighting area, and Gerard Argent had just said to Derek, “Go on then, _Undefeated Alpha._ Destroy your opponent.”

Kira gaped, unable to believe what she was wearing, and slid quickly behind the crowd until she was standing beside Stiles and Lydia, at the very back of the room.

Stiles gave her a glance of acknowledgement, before his wide eyes fixed back on Derek again. Lydia did not seem to notice that Kira had arrived at all, and was clinging tightly to Stiles’ wrist.

Kira looked to the line of Gladiators at the side of the room. Erica had gone as pale as Lydia, her face was set, jaw hard, lips pursed, and shining eyes burning, and Kira knew that she was seeing Erica truly terrified for the first time. Jackson had subtly taken a hold of Erica and Isaac both as they watched, unblinking and rigid, a number of guards between them and the area in which Boyd and Derek were standing.

Neither Derek nor Boyd had moved since the order had been given.

“You have beaten your opponent, _Undefeated Alpha,_ ” Gerard said then, icy and smooth, “And it has been decided that your opponent should not be allowed to live.”

“Father.” It was not Kate’s voice that carried across the room, but Lord Christopher’s. “This is merely a demonstration, between two Weres of the same Ludus. It is not custom…”

“I know what is and what is not custom, Christopher. I am testing our Gladiator’s loyalties,” Gerard shut his son down, and a murmur went through the crowd. The Argents hated public embarrassment like this, and Gerard did not seem at all pleased that his decisions were being questioned publically by his son. “Which is why I am ordering the _Undefeated Alpha_ to destroy his opponent.”

“I would ask you to reconsider, father,” Lord Chris said, “The _Ice Wolf_ is a favourite in the arena.”

“I will not reconsider,” Gerard snapped. “Katherine?”

Kira looked at the back of their mistress. Whilst Kate's posture looked rigid, her voice was calm and in-control when she said, “You heard Lord Gerard, Gladiator. Destroy your opponent.”

Derek was giving a minute shake of his head, and Kira felt Stiles tense up beside her. She quickly slipped her hand around his wrist.

Derek was looking at Kate, and at Boyd, and back again. Derek threw his sword on the ground with a sharp clatter.

“If you do not do it,” Kate said, as though she did not care. Which she probably did not. “I will kill the both of you.”

***

Derek’s heart was freezing and wrenching with each painful thud against his chest. He was horrified and desperate at the same time, so afraid of what had come to pass - of how trapped they had become - that he could taste it. He was frantically attempting to figure out how they could escape this, how they could stop it from happening. But the walls of the cage were closing, the guards were circling, weapons raised, the Argents had given their orders, and Derek knew that there was no escaping this. Derek knew that even shifting and fighting his way through the crowd would end up in death, and punishment for the Gladiators he would leave behind.

He dared not look again at Stiles, for fear of crumbling. He could not bring himself to look towards Erica and Isaac, because he knew that he would break.

He looked to Boyd despairingly, hoping that Boyd would have an answer. Boyd was a relaxed and quiet individual, but he almost always had the right thing to say when it was needed. He looked to Boyd, hoping for some kind of miraculous idea to free them from the hell that they had found themselves in.

But this was the Argent’s world. The hunter’s world and the rich human’s world. This was a world where Weres and slaves and Supernaturals lost.

Boyd looked back at him, and shook his head. Derek knew then that Boyd knew that there was no way out of this, too.

“Do it, Derek,” Boyd said, quietly, though the room was so silent that it carried.

Derek’s lip wobbled without his permission. “I can’t.”

“You have to,” Boyd said, “Or they will kill both of us. You needn’t die too.”

“I should.” Derek argued, voice cracking, “I should die. You shouldn’t die.”

“It’s ok, Derek,” Boyd said, too damns gently for the circumstances. He turned his head away, and Derek finally let himself look towards Erica, as she and Boyd made eye contact, and Boyd nodded briefly, and Derek watched Erica shut down even from across the room.

“Derek,” Kate ordered, voice sharp, “Do it now, or I will order the guards to shoot you both.”

Derek’s claws extended from his fingers in the devastated fury he felt at her words, and before he could do anything, before he could even think, Boyd had shoved himself forwards onto the ends of them.

Derek didn’t realise what had happened, not immediately. Suddenly Boyd was very close, and Derek’s fingers were suddenly wet and sticky, but he didn’t understand why. He looked at Boyd’s face, at the pain on his face, and then his mouth opened in a disbelieving gape. He glanced down and startled at the sight of his claws embedded fingertip-deep into Boyd’s stomach. He went to wrench them back, but Boyd groaned in pain and Derek froze, as Boyd grasped his arm and kept him close.

Voices in the crowd had risen into a loud, insistent buzz around them, but Derek could not hear them. He could not think. His words and breath seemed fixed in his chest and throat, twisted up in tears and shame. He retracted his claws, and Boyd slumped down onto him.

Derek caught him, but the weight pulled them both down onto their knees.

Derek pressed his hands to Boyd’s front, trying to stop the flow of blood, and suddenly Derek’s breath was leaving him in quick and frantic pants, as he tried to keep Boyd upright.

“It’s ok,” Boyd told him, even as the pain that laced his voice told Derek otherwise.

“No, no, no…” Derek chanted, his voice shaking as much as his hands were, “No, it’s not ok.”

“It’s ok, Derek,” Boyd said again, his eyelids drooping and his voice sounding very far away.

Tears finally spilled from Derek’s eyes, “I’m sorry,” He whispered, broken and brimmed with raw, painful devastation.

“I’ll survive this, Derek,” Boyd told him on a murmur, “I will. Don’t blame yourself. We will see another full moon together.”

And then, Boyd slumped forwards into Derek’s lap, and Derek laid him down on the floor. His friend was still breathing, but he did not know for how long. He was bleeding from an Alpha-inflicted wound. A wound that Derek had inflicted. One that Derek had been _forced_ to inflict.

He could have been defeated right at that moment. He could have knelt there and cried. But the anger boiled and over-spilled, and Derek’s collarless powers told him that there really _was_ something he could do. There was something he could do to avenge his friend. And Derek saw a bright, stark red.

***

The screaming started up as soon as Derek leapt up from the floor, in full Beta Shift. The fact that he wasted no time in lurching towards the crowded guests, and the roar of pure fury that he made, showed that he was mindless in his anguish. It should have been a warning to keep the hells away, but Stiles had already left Lydia and Kira and was moving forwards, even as the crowd pressed immediately backwards.

Derek’s red eyes blazed, and Stiles saw them fix on Gerard and Kate, before he hurtled forwards, fangs and bloodied claws extended.

And a second later, Derek was jerking backwards, an arrow protruding from his shoulder. It hit him with such force that he was knocked down by it.

Stiles gasped aloud, as he reached a gap in the crowd and saw that it was Kate holding the bow that had leased the arrow. She stalked forwards, already drawing another.

“Stay down, Derek,” Kate ordered.

Derek did not stay down.

Kate shot him again, with another arrow just below the first, and it knocked Derek back to the ground. He writhed on his back, as the poison from the arrow tips took instant effect.

There was a moment of still and utter silence; the crowd frozen, Boyd motionless, Derek growling in pain on the floor, and Kate poised over him with yet another arrow ready in her bow. And then someone in the crowd started clapping. Astounded, Stiles gaped as a smattering of applause grew, and the excited chatter resumed as though they had just seen a marvellous, rehearsed piece of theatre, and not a man get possibly-fatally wounded.

He stood there in appalled shock, as Gerard invited the guests into another hall for more food and wine, and some of the guards ushered them out, until there was just Stiles, Kate, Chris, Victoria, Derek, Boyd, the remaining guards, and the rest of the Gladiators and house slaves left in the room.

“Guards, take Boyd down to Dr Deaton immediately,” Kate ordered curtly, “He may yet live. Take this one…” She kicked out at Derek with her foot, “Down to one of Deaton’s rooms, and lock him in it. Let him stew for a bit before allowing Deaton to give him the antidote. Then put that damn collar back on his feral neck. Escort the rest of the Gladiators back to the Ludus. Lock them up for the night.” She spun around, “Stiles, check over Boyd.”

Stiles did not wait to be told again, flying forwards until he was knelt between Boyd and Derek. Derek was groaning, eyes open but glazed over, flickering between Alpha-red and his usual hazel-green. Stiles wanted to comfort him, to reach out a hand to hold Derek’s arm, if only for an instant, but already the guards were swarming to haul Derek up and drag him away.

Stiles knew that as much as he wanted to check on Derek, knowing how destroyed Derek would be, Boyd was the priority. Boyd was still breathing, and Stiles shrugged off his open vest without a care for being bared to the room, pressing the material with pressure on the punctures in Boyd’s stomach. He glanced up to see Erica staring towards them, and he gave a quick, single nod to let her know that Boyd was still alive. Her expression of wrecked blankness did not change, as she and the others were shepherded from the room by more guards.

“Stiles.”

Stiles became aware of Kate standing over him, and he looked up at her from where he was knelt on the floor. She towered over him like this, bow still in hand. Her hair and dress were still neat and pristine, as though nothing had even happened to ruffle her. Her face was set in fury, however, only just containing an outburst of rage.

“As little use as you normally are,” She said to him, “Deaton will likely need your aid. Take Boyd down to the surgery with the guards. I would prefer that Boyd survive tonight. He makes me a lot of money.”

And with that, she left, ordering the rest of the house slaves and Chris and Victoria along with her.

Stiles held Chris’ gaze for a moment, holding it and keeping it and unable to stop himself from pouring some accusation into it as he passed. It was not Chris’ fault, of course, and he had even spoken out against Gerard’s demands, but Stiles could not glare at Kate like he wanted to, so he made Chris the target instead. Maybe if Chris hadn’t sent Scott and Stiles out to the blacksmiths that night, all those months ago, then Scott wouldn’t have been attacked by Peter, and they never would have come to this Ludus, and then Stiles would never have met Derek Hale and the _Lupus Ludus Wolves_ and he wouldn’t be so drowned in all these _feelings_ that were threatening to tear him apart.

But Derek meant the world to him, and Stiles could not imagine a life without him in it now; without their pack in it, now. So Stiles stopped glaring at Chris, and focused back on keeping Boyd alive. He was not going to do it for Kate. He was doing it for Boyd, who was his friend, and for their pack, and in the hopes that whatever breaks may have just been made in their group could be mended, if Boyd survived the night…and if Derek survived the guilt.

***

Allison crept into her father’s study.

She had waited months for an opportunity like this; her mother and father were out, and she had hours before they and her grandfather returned from her aunt’s party. The slaves had all gone to bed, and she was not going to get a chance like this again.

She had tried in vain, over many weeks, through contacts and reading documentation, to find out the location of Laura and Cora Hale, but she had not been successful. It had been frustrating to say the least, but she had also been constantly aware that maybe that was because she had not had a chance before to properly search her father’s private rooms. She did not want to believe that her father was involved in the splitting of Were families, and in the keeping of such secrets, but if she could not trust her own aunt and grandfather, then she was unsure she could trust her own father not to do the same.

The room was quiet, bathed in only a little light, from a standing lantern just outside the window, and the candle that she held in her hand. It provided enough light for her trained eyes to see with.

She made a quick and clinical exploration of the room, having been in the study enough times to know which drawers and cupboards were kept locked, and assuming that they would be as good a place as any to start.

After locating her father’s not-so-secret set of hidden keys, she opened drawer after drawer, rifling through them and taking care to return them as found when she was met with failure after failure.

It was not until she made her way to the solid dark wood cabinet at the side of the room that she realised she had struck gold. After opening the door, and pulling some stacked books down in order to pick through them just in case, she spotted something that she had never noticed before.

At the back of the cabinet, set into the wall, was the Argent emblem. She held the candle into the cabinet, careful not to scorch the wood shelves, to peer at the emblem. It was engraved into the stone, a circle surrounded it that looked like it might turn, if under the right application. Her hand reached to her neck and found the pendant of the Argent heirloom necklace that her aunt had gifted her mere weeks before. The crest in the wall looked exactly the same size as the one on her pendant, and she knew that that could not be a coincidence.

Emboldened and exhilarated by her discovery, Allison looped her necklace off over her head with her free hand, and pushed the relief-carved crest on her pendant into the hollowly-carved shape on the wall. It fitted perfectly, and with a wrench of her wrist, she twisted. The circle moved, and the panel in the wall swung open.

Allison took a breath, and reached inside the dark space beyond. She was filled with sudden nerves, but with excitement too. Whilst she was afraid of what she might learn about her father from whatever lay within, she also knew that she might finally find important information that would help Stiles and Scott and Derek Hale. She might find something that would be vital to their survival, their futures. Being the bringer of said information could prove to Scott that she was still only playing her aunt’s games, and that she still loved him. That she would always put him first.

There wasn’t much behind the panel in the wall, she found. There were only a couple of paper folders. She drew them out curiously, and wasted no time in balancing them on the shelf and flipping through them. The first was about the family fortune and accountancy. She put it aside. She looked at the second and frowned at the words scrawled on the front. She opened it and scanned the first page.

Her heart started to pick up pace.

She frantically read over the next page and the next, horror befalling her as she realised what exactly she was reading.

“Oh my gods,” She whispered into the empty study, the papers shaking in her hands. “Oh my gods.”

***

Deaton and Stiles worked over Boyd quickly and quietly. They had worked together enough times under pressure to know what needed to be done; Deaton holding out a hand and Stiles passing him the required implement without a single word.

Boyd remained unconscious throughout, and as Deaton came closer and closer to saving Boyd, Stiles’ internal anger grew and grew.

Kate had said that she wanted Boyd to survive the night. She had ordered it of Stiles. But if she had so badly wanted Boyd to live, then she should have stopped Gerard from whatever insane game he had decided to play in the first place. Because that’s what it had to have been. It had to have been some tactical manoeuvre on Gerard’s part, either to test Kate and Chris, or to test the Gladiators and slaves. Stiles did not have a single idea what the events of that night were supposed to prove to Gerard, and Stiles did not know if they had been proved, and whether whoever it was who was being tested had failed or succeeded that test.

He supposed it would be a matter of waiting to find out. And that thought was a terrifying one in and of itself.

After what seemed like hours and hours, Boyd stabilised, but Deaton said that he would need constant surveillance overnight.

Stiles wanted to be able to let Erica and Isaac know of Boyd’s condition, but he knew that he could not leave the surgery without a guard, and that there was still Derek to deal with.

Derek had been shaking, sweating and ghostly pale from the poison when he had finally been brought out of the room he had been locked in to receive the antidote. The guards had wrenched out the arrows from Derek's shoulder before Stiles had arrived with Boyd, and the guards then had waited until the poison had taken a good hold of Derek before bringing him out for the antidote; Deaton and Stiles' protests against them prolonging Derek's recovery falling on deaf ears.

When they brought Derek out, he had been unseeing and absent, violently shuddering and intermittently throwing up some horrific looking black substance, his Alpha-red eyes flickering off and on again as the guards held him down and Deaton administered the antidote. Deaton had been furious with the guards, angrily stating that if they had waited any longer, the Domina's favourite Gladiator could have lost his arm. It was the closest that Stiles had ever seen Deaton get to shouting.

Stiles had had to blink back tears, and hold himself back from comforting too much as he soothed Derek as the antidote began to work. He wanted to stroke Derek’s hair, to hold his hand, to tell him that he was there and that Boyd was going to be alright and that Derek would be fine, but he couldn’t with the guards there. Derek had already had enough trauma that night; the guards growing suspicious was the very last thing that they needed.

Derek had not seemed to hear any of Stiles' for-the-guards-ears soothing anyway, completely out of mind from the poison in his veins, eyes glazed and darting around without being able to stay on anything. But after the antidote was administered, he finally quieted, his eyes slipping closed in a fevered exhaustion, and almost immediately as Deaton declared that the antidote had taken a hold, the guards had snapped Derek’s collar back around his neck to suppress his powers, and had carried him back into the solitary room he had been locked in.

The room Derek inhabited had been silent since then, and the moment that Boyd was stable, Deaton snapped at all the guards to leave to let the injured Weres rest. Two guards stayed to stand guard outside the main surgery door, and the others filtered out to return to guarding the Ludus and party.

Finally, Deaton and Stiles were left alone, with Boyd sleeping on the table between them.

“Boyd will live, right?” Stiles asked, just to be sure.

Deaton nodded, “If he survives the night, he will live.” He sighed, rubbing at his tired eyes. “Alpha wounds take longer to heal, but they should heal.”

Stiles let out a long breath. “Thank gods.”

There was silence for a moment or two more, before Stiles almost unconsciously turned towards the door of the room Derek was in.

“Can I go in and see him?” Stiles asked Deaton, without looking at him, trying to keep his voice composed and failing.

“He will probably be asleep. The antidote causes some drowsiness.” Deaton said, “But yes, you may. If he is asleep, don’t wake him.”

Stiles nodded in thanks.

Eager to see Derek and comfort him properly, Stiles raced the rest of the way to the door, unlocking it, and slipping inside, closing it behind him.

It was not the room that he and Derek stayed in during their secret meetings, but it looked very similar. It was the room that Lydia had been put in after Peter had attacked her. There was a candle lit on the table, but Derek was not lying on the bed.  He was sitting with his knees curled up to his chest, back against the far wall, in the flickering shadows of the candle. His arms were wrapped around his knees, his face pressed into them, and Stiles was momentarily reminded that that had been exactly how Stiles had sat, when he had listened in on Melissa pleading with Chris and Victoria about Scott’s future as a newly-bitten Were all those months ago.

“Derek?” Stiles asked quietly, moving forward with slow, measured steps. “Derek, it’s me. Are you ok?”

From what Stiles could see of Derek’s skin, he was still sweaty, pale and fevered as the antidote continued to work against the poison, and the arrow wounds in his shoulder continued to heal.

Derek did not move.

He could feel the emotional and physical pain rolling off Derek in waves. He could feel it scratching at his own heart. It hurt him so very badly, to see Derek like this. 

Stiles frowned, concerned, and when he reached Derek he knelt down, placing a careful hand on Derek’s arm, near where his forehead rested.

“Derek?” Stiles asked again.

Derek startled at the touch, as though he had not even heard Stiles’ voice. His head jerked up, and Stiles was suddenly met with an Alpha-red stare and a mouth of fangs.

“What?” Stiles gasped, staggering backwards and falling backwards onto the floor.

With wide eyes, Stiles stared down at the suppression collar, which was definitely, certainly around Derek’s neck, and then back up at the bright red eyes that stared at him.

“How even…” Stiles murmured, aghast.

And Derek growled.

“Oh. Right,” Stiles said, suddenly realising that he was shut in a room with an injured, disorientated and impossibly-shifted Alpha werewolf.


	12. Chapter 12

“Derek,” Stiles whispered into the space between them, not eager to break eye contact with the Alpha reds that stared unseeingly back at him. He needed to bring Derek into the present, and make those eyes see him properly. “Hey Derek, don’t start any of that throat-ripping business you so often threaten. You said it was a joke, remember?”

When he received no reaction, Stiles swallowed heavily, weighing his options.

He didn’t think he could try to run and leave Derek here; if Derek came to his senses he would think that Stiles was afraid of him and would likely never forgive himself. Still, with Derek disorientated and clearly not aware of what he was doing, Stiles wasn’t eager to try and touch him either, in case Derek lashed out in self-defence, and ended up feeling even guiltier than he already was about Boyd. All he could do was stay, and try and talk Derek round. At least talking might help the situation, and talking was something that Stiles was very, very good at, after all.

“Hey Derek, you know you are all Alpha right now, don’t you? All red eyes and fangs and look!” Stiles nodded at the claws that had protruded from Derek’s fingers, “Claws! So tell me, does that mean that you are like a Super Wolf or something? Because as far as I was aware those collars were supposed to be unbeatable to Weres.” Derek did not look down at his claws like Stiles hoped and just continued to stare absently. “No Were has ever managed to shift whilst wearing one,” Stiles barrelled on, “So that must make you more of a Super Wolf than a Sour Wolf right?” Stiles scooted back slightly, nervous as Derek finally did something; suddenly blinking and moving abruptly. Stiles raised a placating hand, “And…ok, look, stay there. Please don’t do anything you will regret. It’s me! It’s Stiles! And I am highly concerned for your welfare right now and I…”

“Stiles,” Derek ground out, dropping his head into his hands, now without claws, his features no longer shifted, and when he looked up, his eyes were back to their usual hazel-green, his skin still sweaty and fevered. “You are so loud.”

Stiles gaped, “You what? You go all Alpha on me, and it’s me who is in the wrong here?”

Derek frowned, “What are you going on about?” Reality seemed to be returning to him as he blinked into focus. He looked utterly confused. “What…when did you get here?”

Stiles blinked. “You don’t know what just happened?”

Derek shook his head, and then groaned at the effort, his face somehow draining colour even more, leaving him a ghostly white. He rolled his head back against the wall and swallowed heavily, watching Stiles hazily. There were still visible black veins of Wolfs Bane spreading out from the arrow wounds, but there were far less than before Deaton had administered the antidote. Deaton had said it would take hours for Derek to fully recover because the guards had left him so long to suffer before allowing Deaton to administer it. But Stiles wondered if it might take half that time, because if Derek could shift with the collar on, his Were healing powers had to be working too.

“No,” Derek replied eventually, “I’ve been losing consciousness on and off since they gave me the antidote and threw me back in here.”

“You weren’t unconscious just now, Derek,” Stiles said slowly, and when Derek looked even more bewildered, Stiles carefully leant forwards and took hold of Derek’s wrists. He lifted them up to Derek’s eye-line. “Try and shift.”

“Shift?” Derek asked, frowning, “Stiles, my collar is on.”

“Uh-huh. Just humour me, ok?”

Derek rolled his eyes, apparently not believing it would work, until, as Stiles thought they would, his claws re-emerged from his fingers again. Derek blinked, wide eyed and his mouth hanging open.

“But how?” Derek gasped, bewildered. “That’s impossible.”

“Well, apparently not," Stiles said, as Derek Beta-shifted fully, freed one of his hands from Stiles, and poked at his own face and collar in disbelief. "I came in here, and you were completely out of it, the next thing I knew you Beta-shifted, all red staring eyes and claws.”

“Stiles,” Derek glanced at where Stiles still had a hold of one of his wrists and then up to look at Stiles worriedly. “I am so sorry, I had no idea. I could have hurt you!”

“But you didn’t.”

“I could have.”

“I don’t think you would,” Stiles stated firmly.

“I did it to Boyd,” Derek uttered on a devastated whisper.

“No,” Stiles said, letting go of Derek’s wrists in order to cup his hands around Derek's Beta-shifted face. He had never been so close to a shifted Were before, and whilst it was fascinating; seeing so close everything that was different and yet still exactly the same about Derek’s appearance whilst he was shifted, he ignored his admiration, because he had more important things to deal with right at that moment. “That was not your fault, and unless Boyd had done what he did, I doubt you would have done anything at all, which would have gotten you both killed. It was not your fault.”

“Is Boyd?” Derek swallowed, his skin felt hot beneath Stiles’ hands, “Is he…”

“Deaton is confident Boyd will survive the night. Which means he will live, Derek.”

Derek let out a relieved breath, though looked no less guilty.

Stiles had to let go of Derek’s face when Derek let out a pained moan, doubling forwards, and when he looked up at Stiles, he was in human form again, even as his eyes were flickering feverishly and lightning fast between Alpha red and his usual eye colour.

“You are still fighting off the poison,” Stiles comforted him softly, manhandling Derek as best he could towards the bed, and then hauled him up onto it. “You are going to be alright, I promise.”

His words were maybe ill-timed, as Derek grabbed the chamber pot under the bed and threw up into it; more of that horrid black substance that was unlike anything Stiles had ever seen.

Stiles wrinkled his nose, “What the hell is that?” He whined.

Derek heaved once more into the pot, before discarding it back on the floor. He lay down on his back and stared up at the ceiling. “I thought you were past all that squeamishness now you are Deaton’s assistant.”

“Not really,” Stiles retorted sharply, “No. I am not past you throwing up disgusting looking black stuff because Kate fucking Argent decided to shoot you full of poisoned arrows. So, no, Derek, I am not over it, to be honest.”

“Stiles,” Derek looked over at him apologetically, “I’m sorry.”

Stiles sighed, before climbing up onto the bed, over Derek and tucking himself between Derek and the wall.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Stiles told him firmly, watching Derek’s hazy eyes.

Derek nodded, though he did not look convinced. Stiles took Derek’s hand and squeezed it briefly, before testing the temperature of Derek’s forehead with the back of his hand.

“It shouldn’t take too much longer for you to recover,” Stiles told him. “Your powers aren’t being suppressed, so with your accelerated healing and the antidote, you will be healing twice as fast.”

Derek traced the black collar around his neck with his fingers. “I just don’t understand,” He said, looking up at Stiles with a frown, “There has never been a Were that has been stronger than the collars. It should be impossible for me to shift.” He lifted his hand over his face and extended his claws once more, watching them with fascination. “How can this be possible?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles said honestly. “And if a born Were doesn’t know, then gods knows I won’t. Could it be some kind of reaction with the antidote? The antidote is curing you of the Wolf’s Bane from the poison, but also counteracting against the preventive elements of the collar?”

“Maybe,” Derek frowned, “But I remember Peter getting shot with poisoned arrows once, and he didn’t change because of the antidote. I have seen arrow-shootings happen to a few Weres here over the years. It has never done anything like this.”

“Maybe you are stronger than they were? Maybe because you were shot with several arrows, Deaton upped the antidote? Maybe you got a bigger dose? We will know if it’s that once you are healed up and the poison and antidote are out of your system. If you continue to be able to do it…” Stiles trailed off, “I guess we will have to re-evaluate.”

“We can’t let her know,” Derek stared up at him, “Even if it is just temporary because of the antidote, she can’t know. This is something important, Stiles. This could be the element of surprise that we need that could get us all out of here.”

“And we won’t let her know. We will keep it between us. Unless you want to tell Deaton?”

“Maybe Deaton, if it turns out that it isn’t the antidote that has caused it. We will need to know how it happened.”

“Are you going to tell Peter?”

“Peter?” Derek glanced at him, clearly surprised, “Me and Peter haven’t been on the best of terms since it all came out that he was the rogue Were.”

“But he is your family,” Stiles said, “And you know you can trust him. He might have some advice?”

“It’s true. And he might have an idea as to what’s going on,” Derek agreed slowly, “I’ll think about it.”

“And what will happen if this overpowering of the collar isn’t a cause of the antidote and continues? You said it would be an element of surprise, and it would definitely be an advantage, I agree. But if that part of the plan develops, then you will tell the others, right? Our pack?”

Derek swallowed, and averted his gaze, allowing guilt to get the better of him again, “We aren’t a pack, Stiles. Not after what I’ve done to Boyd. How could they ever trust me again?”

“Of course they trust you.” Stiles propped himself up on his elbows to look at Derek properly, “I am more than certain that their faith in you has not changed because of this. I know for a certainty that Boyd’s won’t. In fact, the fact that you held off and Boyd took matters into his own hands will likely mean that they will respect you all the more. Because you would have rather died than do that to him.”

Derek shuddered as his body gave another attempt to defeat the poison, and he let out a pained moan, his eyes falling shut. Stiles hushed him and pushed a hand through Derek’s hair, smiling when Derek moved into the touch.

“You smell so good,” Derek murmured.

Stiles blinked, “Excuse me?”

Derek cracked his eyes open, and although he looked apologetic, his eyes were darker. “I haven’t been this close to you before without the collar working. The Wolfs Bane is still affecting my senses, so they aren’t working fully and as intensely as they should be, but I can smell you. You smell good. Really good.”

“Well that’s good to know.” Stiles decided, “What do your other wolfy senses tell you about me?”

“I can hear your heartbeat,” Derek says immediately, “And it is more calming than I care to admit.”

“But you are admitting it so, ah-hah!”

It did not make Derek smile, however, because Derek was too busy frowning, taking a deep breath in. “I can smell something else on you too. Someone else.” Derek suddenly took hold of Stiles’ arm and pulled him down on top of him, their faces mere inches apart. Stiles tried to keep his flailing limbs from hitting any of Derek’s healing wounds, but Derek did not seem to notice, and was watching him worriedly. “I remember – you left the room for a while and then came back not long after Kate and Lord Ithan. What happened, Stiles?” Derek’s eyes were searching his face frantically. “They didn’t do anything to you, did they?”

Stiles tapped his fingers distractedly against Derek’s neck. “Kate told me to sit down next to Ithan. He touched me…just my neck and hair,” Stiles had to quickly add, to right the mortified look on Derek’s face, “And then Kate made some poorly veiled threat that if she ever grew bored of me that Ithan could buy me off her.”

“Chris wouldn’t allow that,” Derek said, holding onto Stiles’ waist even tighter.

“No, but with Gerard here, I’m not sure how much sway Chris would have. And even when Gerard leaves, Chris wouldn’t be able to stop her inviting Ithan over.” Stiles shivered at the thought, a panic rising that he hadn’t felt in a long time. “He likes young men of my figure, Derek. He made a comment about Isaac, and about Scott. I’m worried that if she ever holds another party…what if she brings in Isaac and Scott? They can’t…they aren’t…and, and what if she lets him pay for me for a night, Derek? I don’t want him touching me. I don’t want it. I don’t know how you and the others get through it and I…”

Derek shushed him carefully, telling him to breath, and Stiles closed his eyes from the building panic, resting his head against Derek’s chest and aligning his breathing to the rise and fall of Derek’s chest.

“I won’t let him,” Derek promised him, “I won’t let them.”

“They already have, Derek,” Stiles gasped out. “And they do it to you, too. We can’t stop them from doing anything; hurting Boyd for show, shooting you…we have to get out of here.”

“We will,” Derek murmured, “We all will. And soon.”

Stiles breathed into Derek’s skin for a little while longer, before rolling back to lay at Derek’s side again. “I’m sorry,” Stiles spoke into Derek’s shoulder, “I’m supposed to be comforting you.”

“You are allowed to take a break from being the one to comfort everyone else, you know. And you know that you can tell me anything.”

“I know,” Stiles confirmed, looking up into Derek’s eyes. “I know.”

Derek gritted his teeth against another bout of painful healing, and Stiles took his hand again, hoping to distract Derek from the pain. Hoping to show how much he trusted him, because he knew Derek was still self-doubting.

“In fact,” Stiles started, the thought not coming to him until that very moment, but sticking and holding strong. “There is something I have been meaning to tell you.”

Derek glanced at him, “Yes?”

“My first name.”

Derek blinked, “You told me that it was something kept between you and your parents.”

“It was. Though I told Melissa and Scott once. But the only other people that know my true name are Argents. And even though Allison is my friend, there are more Argents that know my real name than people that I love, that are still alive. I don’t want it to be like that. I want more than just slave owners to know my name, because it isn’t theirs to have.” Stiles’ voice broke, and he took a calming breath before continuing, “It’s mine. I guess it was never something just between me and my parents, no matter how much I wanted it to be. Gerard, Kate, Chris and Victoria knew. And I want, I want to tell more people, because it is my choice. And I want you to know it first.”

“Ok,” Derek smiled at him, soft despite the pain he still had to be in. “It would be an honour to know it.”

Stiles smiled back, “It’s Mieczyslaw.”

Derek stared at him, eyes wide, and jaw dropping open slightly. “Say that again?”

“Mieczyslaw,” Stiles repeated, rolled his eyes, “It’s a mouthful I know but once you…”

“No, that’s not why I asked,” Derek interrupted, gaze darting over Stiles’ face, startled yet assessing and Stiles had no idea what was going on. “I know that name.”

Stiles scoffed. “I don’t think so, Derek. It’s not a common name in this country. At all.”

“But I know it,” Derek insisted, turning properly onto his side to look at him seriously.  “Stiles, what was your father’s name?”

Stiles frowned, “I told you that didn’t I?”

“No,” Derek said eventually, after thinking about it, “You said your mother’s name was Claudia, and that she was a seamstress, and that your father was a Sherriff. You never said his name.”

Stiles remembered suddenly that Derek had recognised the surname ‘Stilinski’ when he had first heard it, and believed that he had once heard his mother mention the name.

Stiles watched Derek carefully. “His name was John.”

Derek’s expression instantly changed from a frown to smile, opening up in realisation.

“Stiles,” Derek said excitedly, “I knew him! I knew your father.”

“What?” Stiles asked, utterly bewildered. “How? What?”

“I only ever knew him as John,” Derek said, “His surname was never brought up. I think I overhead my mother mention it a couple of times but didn’t make any connection. I didn’t even know he was a Sherriff. He was a friend of my parents. I am not sure how they met, or why exactly he visited, but he normally came to the house a couple of times a year. And I remember him saying that he had a son that was around my sister Cora’s age. I remembered the name because it was so unusual and unique; Mieczyslaw. I would listen to him tell my mother stories of this hyperactive, uncoordinated child that would get up to mischief, and they called you Mischief sometimes, didn’t they?”

Stiles gaped, “I don’t believe this. They did. But I had no idea he knew your family. I never heard of you.”

Derek was animated by that point, colour returning to his cheeks, and he looked much better, his eyes glowing with nostalgic excitement rather than fever. “Maybe it was a secret friendship? You father knew we were Weres because we were open about it with him, which was rare; we only had a couple of human friends we were open with. Maybe he kept the authorities away from us?”

“It sounds like something he would do,” Stiles said, “He was a good man. And he was always against the cruel treatment of Weres, hence why we only went to Gladiator fights when he was invited by someone who would question his authority and be suspicious as to why he wouldn’t attend.”

Were sympathisers were not treated well by the general population, either. He remembered his father telling him that they had to be careful who they told about their feelings about Weres and the mistreatment and cruelty towards Supernaturals.

“I remember one day,” Derek said, hauling himself up to a sitting position and taking Stiles’ hands in his, catching Stiles’ gaze, and Stiles could not look away, bewildered but thrilled to learn this new information about his father, after so long of having nobody to talk to about him. “He came to visit but said that he couldn’t stay long, because Mieczyslaw was really sick. I felt sorry for him, and for you, and so I gave him something. It was a Triskelion; a little disc with a triskele on it. Our family had a collection of them, they were used to help train young ones how to control their powers, a tool to focus minds. I still needed mine because I struggled for a long time with my shift, but I saw it as more than a training tool. I saw it as a protective symbol. I gave it to your father to pass on to you as good luck. I didn’t tell my parents, and they scolded me for losing it, but they just gave me a new one.”

Stiles heart felt two sizes too big, his skin warming, and he was utterly speechless.

“Do you remember?” Derek asked.

Stiles nodded dumbly, before reaching out and tracing the shape on the skin of Derek’s arm, three connected spirals that had been carved onto a token his father had given him when he had been sick; a protective trinket to make him feel better.

Derek watched the pattern made by Stiles’ finger, and looked up at him again, his smile wide, and for a moment, his guilt and concerns forgotten. Stiles smiled back, unable to hold back the tears welling in his eyes.

“I remember it. Father said it was given to him by a good friend, who wanted me to feel better. I recovered well after that, and I became convinced it was a lucky charm. When my mother got sick I…” Stiles paused, swallowed, collected himself, “I gave it to her. I wanted it to make her better.”

“Stiles…”

Stiles sent Derek a watery smile to let him know that it was ok. “After she died I kept it in my bedroom. I kept it, up until the day my Father died and our possessions were all taken away and I was sent to Chris Argent’s. I lost my lucky charm, Derek. I lost your gift and I’m sorry.” Stiles lifted one of Derek’s hands to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the knuckles, “But thank you for sending it that day. It ended up meaning a hells of a lot to me, that talisman.”

Derek smiled softly, “You are welcome, Mieczyslaw.”

The name sounded like liquid gold on Derek’s tongue and Stiles melted.

“You can even say it right,” Stiles gushed, batting his eyelids, hoping that he could lighten the moment and stop himself from blubbering like a fool. “My dream man.”

“But you would prefer me to call you Stiles?”

“Yes,” Stiles said immediately, even as a child Stiles had preferred being called Stiles rather than Mieczyslaw, by anyone other than his parents. “Though I give you the right to use Mieczyslaw on special occasions, seeing as you say it so well.”

“Thank you for the privilege.”

Stiles rolled his eyes with fond amusement, “You are welcome.”

“No, Stiles,” Derek said, seriously, “I mean it. Thank you for telling me. You didn’t have to.”

“If I hadn’t then we never would have made the connection,” Stiles sat back, still unable to quite believe all that he had heard. “I am finding it difficult to take it all in.”

“I am too,” Derek reassured him. “You know, after everything that has happened since I was made a Gladiator, I almost forgot about John and his stories about you. And for that I am sorry.”

“You remembered them for me, though,” Stiles told him. “Thank you. It is nice to hear stories of him. He was my hero,” Stiles admitted. “I wanted to be just like him; be in the authorities when I grew up. Not for the power, but because I knew he made a difference. He was respected.”

“My parents thought very highly of him, I remember, but then I didn’t know he was in the authorities.”

A question came to Stiles then; “How long did my father visit you for?”

“I first remember him visiting when I was, I don’t know, about five or six?” Derek guessed, “He stopped when I was thirteen, I think, because I was excited to tell him that I had finally learnt to control my shift, but I never got to tell him because he didn’t come to our house anymore. Mother said his wife wasn’t well. I never saw him again after that. I think he may have visited once when I wasn’t there, before the fire, but I didn’t see him again.”

“It will have been because my mother had died,” Stiles explained sadly, “It was when he fell into a downward spiral.” Something came to him then, something that shocked and saddened him in equal measure, and he gripped Derek’s hands a little harder, “Derek, do you remember me saying that after my mother died, that my father fixatedly buried himself in his work? That he wanted to save, or find justice for, as many as people as he could, because he hadn’t been able to save my mother?”

Derek nodded.

“One of the cases that he got obsessed with after my mother had died was a series of house fire cases. There was one in particular that he wouldn’t let go. He would pour over the case file, and drink, and worry about it some more. There were sketches and information and pieces of string all over his bedroom wall, but he wouldn’t let me look closely. He said it wasn’t for my eyes. I saw some of the sketches of the destruction, I saw casualty numbers. I even had nightmares about them. I was only ten at the time. The reason my father got so wound up in it was because he said he knew the people that lived there. You don’t think…” Stiles paused, “You don’t think it was your family’s house, do you? The ages and dates would match up.”

Derek swallowed heavily. “It could have been,” He confirmed quietly. “It could well have been. They didn’t know how the fire started. Maybe your father thought there was more to it.”

“And do you?” Stiles asked, “Think there was more to it?”

“I think there could have been,” Derek admitted.

“And my father never had the chance to find out,” Stiles said, emotion bubbling up inside of him again.

“But to know that he tried, that he cared,” Derek said, “That means everything.”

“Good nature runs in the family,” Stiles attempted once again to lighten the mood, but it was little ruined by the fact that he sniffed sadly right afterwards.

Derek smiled at him, leant forwards to kiss him, “It does.”

“You look better,” Stiles commented quietly.

“I feel better,” Derek said. “You make me feel…”

Whatever compliment that Derek was about to bestow, Stiles was sadly not going to be able to hear it, because suddenly there were three sharp knocks on the door.

“Guards are coming,” Stiles whispered, recognising Deaton’s warning signal and scrambling over Derek and off the bed, walking immediately to the door and swinging it open. “He will be fine, Deaton. The antidote seems to be doing its job. It’s slow but…” Stiles shut the door behind him as he walked through it, and turned to see a couple of guards entering the room. “But he is going to make a full recovery.”

“Good,” Deaton said, from where he was checking on Boyd.

The guards appeared to have absolutely no suspicions about Stiles having been in the room with Derek; believing Stiles to have been merely checking up on him.

“You can inform the Domina that her _Undefeated Alpha_ will make a full recovery.” Deaton said to the guards, before he looked down at Boyd again. “And that Boyd will most likely live.”

 

***

Boyd survived the night. He had four days of healing without the collar before they put it back on him again. It took another day for him to be well enough to leave Deaton’s care, with strict instructions to Kate that Boyd should not return to training for another week at least. During the five days leading to Boyd’s release from the infirmary, Derek had continued to feel gut-wrenchingly guilty for what had happened, even as it seemed all of his friends were making every effort to stop him from feeling that way.

Peter had followed him like an intimidating and protective shadow for the first couple of days, angry at everyone for Derek’s sake, because he said that Derek should be angry and not guilty. Erica had hugged Derek the day after the party, which had startled him, because in all honesty he had been expecting a slap. She had told him that it had not been his fault, and that she had known that he had done all that he could have for Boyd. Isaac had been quietly supportive, unwavering in loyalty as always. Scott had smiled at him sadly, understanding, but not pitying. Jackson had barely mentioned it, asking Derek to train with him, encouraging him onto the sands and away from his thoughts. Liam had still needed training, too, and Derek had busied himself with that as well.

Derek had been to visit Boyd before Boyd’s release from recovery, apologising and asking forgiveness, and Boyd had smiled at him, reached out a hand for Derek to clasp, and pulled Derek towards him.

“It was not your fault,” Boyd had told him, just as everyone else had told him. “They did that. Gerard and Kate. Not you.” Boyd’s sincere eyes had watched Derek closely. “Don’t you feel like it is your fault. There is nothing you could have done, and in the end, it was my choice as to what happened after their ultimatum. We aren’t blaming you Derek, and we need you to be strong, brother. You make the rest of us strong, too.”

Derek had bent his head to rest his forehead against Boyd’s. “I’ll try. I’m sorry.”

“You apologise one more time and I’ll kick your ass the minute I am back on the sands,” Boyd had promised.

And that had been that. He had Boyd’s forgiveness, and although he still felt responsible for Boyd’s injuries, Boyd’s wish for him to stay strong was what he allowed to take precedence. He was amazed, but grateful, that all of his friends gave him such support.

For a boy that had grown up only ever really having siblings and cousins as true friends that he could be honest with, to a teenage slave that had been manipulated, cruelly treated and isolated, with only Peter to rely on, it still astounded him that over the last few months, he had gained a group of friends that cared about him so much, that liked him and respected him and thought that he was worth their time, and, significantly, that they saw him as a strong leader.

“This is new to all of us, Derek,” Isaac had said to him, when Derek had mentioned their quickly formed, but strong friendship group, “None of us have had this before; a large group of friends that we look forward to seeing and spending time with.” He had looked at Derek seriously then, “None of us have had a pack before, apart from you and Peter, and I know that it can’t be the same for you guys because we aren’t family, but we are the closest thing, surely?”

Derek had reassured him that they were as close to a pack as a Ludus environment could possibly achieve, and Isaac had smiled one of those smiles that could light up any room.

But the more Derek thought about it, he had wondered if it was true; that maybe they truly were a dysfunctional, unique form of pack. Stiles had been saying for weeks that they were like a pack, and that Derek was their Alpha figure, but he had not been sure. Not even when the others had mentioned the word ‘pack’ to him on numerous occasions at mealtimes. It was only after the night with Boyd, which had, Derek had decided, clearly been set up by Gerard with the intention of tearing their little group apart, that Derek had come to believe that maybe the others had been right. Maybe they were a pack. Because the Argents had tried to tear them apart, and they had only come back together stronger and more supportive than ever before. That was the style of a pack. That was the behaviour of a pack. The others may have mentioned the word ‘pack’ a number of times, but it had not been until Derek had seen the pack system in action that he had wondered if it could be possible.

It had not been the only question on Derek’s mind, however.

The antidote and the poison were well out of Derek’s system after so many days, but his ability to shift and use his powers, with his collar still on, continued.

He had not told anybody. Nobody but Stiles.

It had been strange, experiencing the Ludus like he never had before. Everything looked, sounded, and smelt ten times bolder and more intense. He could smell the sand and the blood and the sweat and the leather. He could hear conversations across the dining hall, he could hear heartbeats. He could hear if someone was lying to him, which meant that he had been able to hear that his friends’ reassurance of him was completely honest and true. Sometimes, he could hear Kate up in the house, and he would listen out for Stiles, but that was more difficult. He could hear other Weres whispering; about him, about Kate, about possible rebellion. He knew the attitude in the Ludus was angry and tired, and that all blame was pointed towards the Argents. He could sense it more too. He could see the individual grains of sand on the training grounds, he could see the tick in Gladiator’s jaws as they passed the guards.

When Stiles and Danny joined them at mealtimes, rarer an occasion though that now was now that Gerard was visiting, Derek could see Stiles even more clearly. He noticed with better precision the individual freckles on Stiles’ skin, the flecks of colour in Stiles’ honey brown eyes. He could smell him too. And gods, did Stiles smell good to Derek. It was almost intoxicating, how good he smelt. He smelt familiar, he smelt safe, he smelt as beautiful as he looked.

The new overload of senses returning to him had been intense, but Derek had, so far, acted natural enough that nobody had suspected anything. Stiles had asked him about it quietly over the serving of food, to which Derek had confirmed he was still experiencing the overpowering of the collar, but they had had no time properly alone to discuss it further.

So Derek figured he would follow the plan that he and Stiles had discussed when they had first realised that Derek had access to his powers.

He decided to tell Peter.

The day Boyd was released from Deaton’s care, Derek snuck into Peter’s cell that evening and waited for his uncle.

Peter appeared not ten minutes later, double-taking at seeing someone standing in his room, and Peter snarled until he realised who it was.

“Gods, Derek,” Peter snapped, “For a second I thought you were one of the guards robbing me.”

“No, don’t worry,” Derek said, “Your savings are safe.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Then what do you want?”

Derek shifted awkwardly, wondering how the hells he was going to spring the news on his uncle. “I have something to show you.”

Peter’s lip curled dramatically and he looked positively gleeful, “If it is some embarrassing medical issue, take it to show Deaton, not me. I know I’ve done some bad things in my time, but I have done nothing that deserves that kind of punishment.”

Derek rolled his eyes with force, “For the gods’ sake. No. It’s not that.” He strode past Peter to shut the door, and then swung around to Peter, and held up his hand. “It’s this,” he said, before he let his claws extend from his fingers.

Peter stared. His mouth dropped open. His gaze lifted to Derek’s collar around his neck, back down to his claws, and then back up and down again. Derek did not think he had ever seen his uncle so speechless.

“What the fuck?” Peter asked, sailing forwards to grasp Derek’s wrist, inspecting the claws like he had never seen them before. He then looked up at Derek’s face. “Shift,” Peter ordered, “Beta-shift.”

Derek did as he was told, and watched as Peter stared at his face.

“How?” Peter asked, lifting a hand to tug carefully at the collar around Derek’s neck with his fingers, testing it. “When did this happen?”

“I don’t know,” Derek said around his fangs, before shifting back. “I have only been like this since Kate shot me with the Wolfs Bane arrows and then Deaton gave me the antidote. Stiles came in to check on me and found me shifted. I hadn’t even been conscious of it until I came around a little more.” He had been terrified in those moments when Stiles had first told him that he had been shifted and he hadn’t been aware of it; he could have accidentally hurt Stiles, bitten him or scratched him in an unconscious move of defence that could have turned Stiles. Anything could have happened, and yet Stiles had had such complete trust and faith in him. “We wondered if it was the combination of my Supernatural healing and antidote healing me of the Wolf’s Bane that had counteracted the effects of the collar. But now days have passed, and I’m still able to shift. So I don’t know.”

Peter was observing him calculatingly. “I know for a fact it isn’t the antidote or anything like that. I have been shot with enough of those wretched arrows to be proof that that antidote does nothing to affect the collars.”

“Well that’s what I thought but…”

“I think I know what it is,” Peter interrupted, “And it’s the only possible thing it could be. Everything else has an answer or proof; Wolfs Bane arrows don’t affect the collars because the Argents wouldn’t have been using the arrows as a tool to keep us down if it interfered in any way with the collars. There is no Were that has overcome the collars on their own before, you can ask Deaton. It’s considered impossible. Which leaves only one possible answer.”

Derek watched him impatiently, “And? What is it?”

“This is the first time, that I have heard of, that any sort of pack has managed to form inside of a Ludus setting. Slave Weres are not allowed to have packs, their collars and the Gladiator rivalry and an unnatural number of Alphas in ratio to Betas have always quashed slave Were instincts to have one. But we - because Kate has clearly been thinking it would be harmless, assumedly because she believes that allowing us to come together would only harm us more if one of us then died out on the sands and our lessons would then be learnt – we have formed a group. A pack. It’s something I have never heard happen before, and before this I didn’t even think it was possible. Ludus environments, it has always been said, are unsuitable for pack formation and behaviour. But that is essentially exactly what we have unknowingly become. Those Betas see you as their Alpha, Derek. And maybe what happened that night with you and Boyd made them realise that. You didn’t want to hurt him, and would rather have sacrificed yourself for him. They rely on you. They forgave you immediately because they didn’t even think that there was anything to forgive. They trust you. All of them. Human slaves and all. Boyd liked you enough to spare you the act of potentially killing him. That night, you were cemented in the role of Alpha.” Peter made a grand gesture, like he was waiting for applause for his genius providing of the answer. “That is why I believe you have overcome the collar, Derek. Because a Were is infinitely stronger when in a pack, particularly the Alpha. The collars were never made with the intention of suppressing any Were more powerful than a lone Alpha. You are an Alpha with the power of a pack; something the Dominus’ and Dominas’ never predicted would happen in their own damn confidence that a pack could never – and would never – be able to form in a Ludus.”

“You think they see me as their Alpha?” Derek asked.

Peter huffed, “Are you blind? They don’t just _see_ you as their Alpha, Derek. Weren’t you listening? You _are_ their Alpha now. Whether you like it or not. And you have your powers back because of it, so you better damn like it because I am secretly furious that it wasn’t me.”

“You aren’t fit to be an Alpha of a pack.”

“That’s your opinion.”

“And everyone else’s, apparently.”

“Alright, alright, there’s no need to get all cocky and egotistical on me. I just provided you with the answers.”

“And now I need your advice.”

“Better,” Peter preened and perched himself on the edge of his bed. “I can play the role of advisor, certainly.”

“What do you think I should do about it?”

Peter blinked. “Do about it? We use it. We utilise the fact that they don’t know.” Peter paused. “Who knows about this?”

“You, me and Stiles. Even Deaton doesn’t know.”

“Well, we can trust Stiles,” Peter said thoughtfully to himself, once again surprising Derek by how much Peter seemed to like Stiles. “I think we should keep it between us until we can figure out how to use your powers to our advantage in a rebellion. We can really start plotting now, Derek, now we know where the collar keys are as well. This is the closest we have ever been.”

“Should I let the rest of the pack know?” Derek asked, feeling strange just using the word ‘pack’. “It’s their faith in me that has made it possible.”

“Wait,” Peter said. “Wait until we know for sure that this ability to defeat your collar isn’t going away, and until we figure out a way to best use it.”

“And Deaton?”

“We can let him know when the pack knows. I trust him, I just don’t think he needs to know until we are sure.”

“Ok. Thanks Peter.”

“Anytime, Alpha-mine.”

“Don’t start with that.”

“Why not?”

“I doubt you accept me as Alpha. You told me yourself that you had been willing to kill Laura in order to assume Hale Pack Alpha status.”

“But this isn’t the Hale Pack,” Peter said, watching Derek with his flinty blue eyes. “And even though one of my own-made Betas is in it, it isn’t my pack, it never was, much to my disappointment. Scott has chosen you as an Alpha. They all have. I have no supportable challenge against it, and I don’t have a right like I did with our family pack. This is a different pack. Your pack.”

“But will you be part of it?” Derek asked. He knew his uncle was prideful, and of how desperately he had wanted to become pack Alpha. And whilst Derek was still furious with Peter for even considering betraying Laura in order to have Derek and Cora as his Betas, he knew that he could not do this without his uncle.

“Yes, Derek,” Peter said, with a genuine smile, for once, and Derek knew that he meant it, and meant it honestly. “I want to be part of it.” Peter smirked. “I have decided that I am maybe not Pack Alpha material. The handsome, wiser-than-his-years pack guru, on the other hand? That role was made for me.”

***

Kate had not asked for Derek to come to the house since Gerard had come to visit. But that did not mean that she could not come down to the Ludus.

The day after, an hour before the wake-up call, Derek was woken by the sound of his cell door unlocking. He leapt up, stance defensive, yet making sure that his eyes did not burn red from the natural instincts that were no longer suppressed by his collar.

Kate walked in, shutting the door behind her, but before she did so he saw the guards standing outside in the corridor.

She had never done this before. She had never come down to the Ludus to see him like this. She had always thought that she was above it.

“Relax Derek,” she scolded curtly.

Derek edged back to standing, body tense, unable and unwilling to hide the anger that he felt towards her.

“Do not bother with that,” she snapped, “You know that that incident with Boyd was set up by Lord Gerard and not me. And the rest of it was all your own doing.”

“You shot me,” Derek snarled.

“You were going to attack my guests. If I wasn’t so fond of you I would have had you put down for it.”

Derek reeled a little, feeling like he had been slapped.

“And,” Kate continued, eyes hard, “If you do not stop with your insolent attitude I will have you punished for it. And I will make it highly unpleasant and last for days. Understood?”

Derek bit the inside of his cheek, before forcing a “Yes, Domina.”

“If only I could believe that,” Kate sighed heavily, as though Derek was some great burden. She walked forwards and reached out to trace the areas of his body that she had embedded arrows in. His heightened senses could smell with greater clarity the perfume on her, the scent of her hair products, and the hard, unforgiving metal of weapons. He could hear her heartbeat, and was not ashamed when he wished that one day he would hear that cool, unflappable beat cease to do so. “It is a shame that marks do not stay, sometimes,” she said. “To put a permanent mark on you other than this…” her hand traced the Argent brand on his inner arm. “Would be incredibly satisfying. To mark you as mine and mine alone. Maybe I should. I could create another brand, just for you.” Fingers trailed over his shoulder, and Derek watched her, expressionless on the outside and hating on the inside. He could tell that she was watching his reactions closely as her hands travelled down his chest and lower. She was looking for something, but he had absolutely no idea what. “Would you like that, Derek? Would you like my mark on you? Because you are mine, aren’t you?”

“I am yours,” Derek gave her what she wanted, not meaning a single word.

“Oh, Derek,” she said, disappointed and yet accusing at the same time, “If only I could believe that,” she said again.

She turned on her heel and left, leaving Derek bewildered, his chest heaving, and his Were powers bubbling away – accessible and yet trapped by necessity - under the surface of his skin.

***

That night Derek saw Stiles in private for the first time since the night they had discovered Derek’s unleashed powers, and that Stiles’ father had been a family friend of the Hales. Stiles had his lesson with Deaton first, and Derek sat silently at the edge of the room, half-listening to what Deaton was saying, because his attention was mostly focused on Stiles.

Through the smell of medical equipment, sterilisers and Deaton’s scent, Derek could pinpoint Stiles’ easily. He smelt bright, like warm summer days in the forests, and sweet, like the honey cakes that he sometimes managed to sneak to Derek from the house. Derek wanted nothing more than to scent him properly, right there and then, but thought that Deaton might have something to say about it, if Derek walked up to Stiles and started doing so in the middle of Deaton’s lesson. Whilst it had been nice to finally figure out the scents of his pack, and to have Peter’s return to him, he had not ever felt the need to scent someone like he had Stiles. Now that his powers were within his complete control, with no poison affecting them, he could sense Stiles stronger than ever. But he had to exercise composure, and patience.

The moment the pair of them were alone in their private room, Derek backed Stiles up against the door and buried his head at the base of Stiles’ neck, taking a long, deep breath in.

“Well hello to you too,” Stiles sounded amused, and a little turned on. Derek heard Stiles’ heartbeat skipping with it as Derek felt a hand begin to stroke through his hair.

Derek moaned softly at the feeling, purring low in his chest.

“I didn’t even know Wolves could make that sound. Maybe you have been lying to me all this time and you are some kind of giant Were-Cat,” Stiles joked, even more breathless, as Derek pressed their bodies closer.

“I can sense you properly now,” Derek mumbled into his skin by way of explanation. “You smell so good.”

But it was when he breathed in again that he smelled something else, something beneath the smell of Stiles. It smelt like ointment and burnt flesh. Derek jerked back, knocking Stiles’ arm accidentally as he did so, and Stiles hissed between his teeth, holding the arm to him with his other one.

“Sorry,” Derek apologised, backing off quickly. He spotted the bandage wrapped around Stiles’ arm, peeking out from beneath his long-sleeved shirt. “What is that?” He could not stop the angry protectiveness that seeped into his tone.

“It’s nothing,” Stiles started, before sighing in frustration. “Well, actually, it’s a burn. Gerard and Kate have been in foul moods since the party, with each other and us. It is like we can do no right. I spilled some soup onto the table by accident, and Gerard poured the rest of the bowl over my arm. It happened a couple of days ago. It’s healing.”

Derek made a noise of sympathy, and reached out a hand to Stiles’ arm.

“It’s nothing, Derek, not compared to what you all in the Ludus go through.”

“You don’t have the pain threshold that Weres do,” Derek countered immediately. He glanced up at Stiles. “Have they done anything else?”

“Not to me,” Stiles said. “Danny was made to stand in the same spot in the pool hall all day because Kate decided that he was slouching. Gerard is still threatening Matt with cutting his tongue out, even though the incident of Matt speaking out of turn happened on Gerard’s last visit. Kira even got yelled at and caned around the wrist yesterday for not cleaning something properly.” Stiles shook his head. “It is like they are trying to outdo each other, or at least prove to each other that they each haven’t gone soft. They are angry at each other and they are taking it out on all of us. And I don’t think that…oh…” Stiles looked down to see that Derek had taken a hold of Stiles’ arm whilst he had been talking, and was leeching the pain from Stiles; black veins of it travelling up his arm.

“Does that not hurt you?” Stiles asked quietly, transfixed.

Derek shook his head, “Higher pain threshold.”

Stiles closed his eyes as any pain that was in his arm faded away, “Thank you,” he murmured.

They stood like that for a while; close together as Derek took any remaining pain from Stiles. It would return eventually, but hopefully not for a little while.

“How can they think that Werewolves aren’t good,” Stiles said eventually, cracking his eyes open to look at Derek, “When your powers allow you to do things like this?”

Derek shrugged. “If you are trying to turn a race against another race, you paint them as a villain so as to breed fear and resentment. There would be no gain in highlighting positives. They know that we can do good, be good, that most of us are, but they choose not to believe it because of their own prejudices, and envy. They hate that we are physically stronger and faster than they are. They saw us as a threat, so they turned us into an enemy, as animals to be hunted and enslaved.”

Stiles nodded, sombre. He softly traced the black veins spreading up Derek’s arm until there were none left; the pain all gone. Derek smiled, letting go of Stiles’ arm.

“The powers haven’t disappeared then?”

Derek shook his head. “I have told Peter. He has a theory.”

“Tell me.”

So Derek sat Stiles down on the bed and quickly summarised Peter’s theory; that the formation of the pack had made them all stronger, but as the pack Alpha, Derek had gained most of all, so much that it had allowed him to overpower the collar.

“And what did Peter say about telling the others?” Stiles asked with interest once Derek had finished.

“That we should tell them, but only when we have some formation of a plan.”

Stiles nodded, “Makes sense.” He watched Derek curiously, “You have full access to them then? I know you can Beta-shift, I have seen that in person, but can you, you know?” He gestured, “Go full-wolf? Alpha-shift?”

Derek grinned and rolled his eyes. “Full-wolf?” He repeated, teasing. “No, I haven’t tried it. I think the transformation could break the collar; my wolf’s neck would be too big for the collar and it could snap it, which would kill me, so I thought I had best not.”

“Yes, good idea, best not.” Stiles cocked his head. “I have seen Peter as a wolf,” he said, “He is coal black, and although he was very terrifying and threatening at the time, looking back, he makes a badass wolf. What colour are you? Do you even know?” Stiles asked, which was a fair enough question; Derek had become an Alpha whilst a Gladiator, and their limited Alpha-shift training sessions or fights did not exactly provide much chance of studying fur colour or a reflection. “Do they even let you Alpha-shift here?”

“Sometimes we have Alpha training sessions, but they are rare,” Derek said, again surprised that Stiles found the idea of wolves cool, rather than scary. “I have seen myself as a wolf, though, once. I am about the same size as Peter is, and my fur is mostly pitch black, but I have a silver-white underbelly,” he held up a hand to bracket the lower half of his face, “And under my muzzle.”

Stiles was listening intently, eyes wide with something akin to awe, “Well that sounds adorable,” he grinned.

Derek quirked an eyebrow, “Wolves are supposed to be fierce and majestic, not cute and fluffy.”

“Not you though,” Stiles smile grew wider, “I can imagine you being the cutest of all wolves.”

“I suppose I am supposed to take that as a compliment?”

“Oh, definitely. I mean, you are cool and brooding too,” Stiles leant forward to pat Derek’s shoulder, “Don’t you worry about that. That appears to come quite naturally to you, which is most unfair to someone like me, who is frankly neither. But being cool and brooding does not mean that you can’t also be obliviously adorable.” Stiles then took hold of one of Derek’s chest straps and pulled him forwards, “And I am not going to lie, your Beta-shift is more than badass.”

“Really?” Derek asked, surprised once again.

“Of course!” Stiles insisted. “Before that night last week when I saw you shift, I had never been so close to a shifted Were before. Not even on Scott’s first full moon when I saw him shift. It was amazing.”

“You really think so?” Derek asked, no longer joking and genuinely questioning, still not used to a human being so open and admiring of Weres, after years of hate and being told that Were shifts were horrifying and disgusting.

“What else am I supposed to think?” Stiles asked, confused, like there was no other option. “In fact, I was wondering, well…would you Beta-shift for me?” 

“Yes,” Derek said warily, “Ok.” Before granting Stiles’ request.

Immediately Stiles edged even closer, until he and Derek were centimetres apart, and then Stiles lifted his hands to trace and study Derek’s shifted face; the heavier brow, the harder lines, the pointier ears. Stiles’ journey ended at Derek’s mouth, and Stiles looked at him questioningly, before Derek parted his lips so that Stiles could carefully run a finger over his teeth.

“Wow,” Stiles said, still staring like Derek was something mystical and remarkable.

Derek shifted back to his human form once again.

“You know, there aren’t many humans left in today’s society that think the same as you, Stiles.”

“Well the rest are all wrong,” Stiles said, adamantly. “If they cannot see that Weres are powerful and extraordinary and beautiful and sexy…”

“Sexy?” Derek interrupted, with a smirk. “You think that of all Weres, or…?”

“One in particular,” Stiles grinned back, “It’s the red eyes and the fangs. And I'm not talking about Peter.”

Derek arched his eyebrow, “You find the red eyes and the fangs sexy? Are you being serious?”

“When am I ever not?” Stiles cocked his chin, his tongue poking between his teeth as he smiled.

Stiles’ heartbeat had not faltered on a lie, but still curious, Derek blinked his eyes to their Alpha red, his teeth sharpening. He watched Stiles’ pupils dilate, and he smiled smugly around his fangs. He pushed Stiles back onto the bed, and the younger man stretched out below him, staring up at him, their gazes locked.

“You really do like it,” Derek said.

“I do,” Stiles admitted breathlessly, pulling Derek down on top of him, until Derek caught and pinned his hands above his head, mindful of the burn on Stiles' arm. “I really do.”

“Huh,” Derek leaned down to scent Stiles’ neck again, hearing Stiles’ pulse quicken as he did so, and lowered his body so that it was pressed along the length of Stiles’, pushing his hips into Stiles, and the boy beneath him moaned as their cocks aligned through layers of fabric.

Stiles wrists moved a little in Derek’s grip as he tested the hold, and Stiles spoke into his ear, low and velvet, “You have even more strength now you have your powers back.”

“Yes,” Derek answered.

“Huh,” Stiles mirrored Derek’s interested, aroused response, and arched his body up into Derek’s.

“You like the manhandling.”

“Yes, yes I do. I also like being kissed, just to throw that one out there.”

Derek retracted his fangs and immediately followed Stiles’ command, moving to kiss him thoroughly. Stiles panted into the kiss and rolled his hips, the air between them getting more heated and charged at every passing moment. Derek moved his free hand to rest at the top of Stiles’ chest, his fingers slipping just under the give given by Stiles’ slave collar.

Stiles met his kiss boldly, tongues dancing, soft eager sounds emitted in the breaths in between.

Clothes were shed, skin met skin once again. Stiles’ hands were free again, and he pulled Derek in close to him.

“Fuck me, Derek,” Stiles begged against Derek’s cheek, hooking his legs around the backs of Derek’s thighs. “Have me in any way you want, as fast and hard as you want.”

Derek pulled back to look into eyes swallowed by black pupil, at kiss-reddened parted lips and flushed cheeks. He wanted Stiles so badly, all of the time, in so many ways, and that feeling was only intensified with all his powers accessible to him. He wanted to take Stiles fast and hard and see what it felt like; it was a style of sex that they had not indulged in before, but he had often imagined it.

“If it gets too much at any point, or if your arm starts to bother you,” Derek said, “You will let me know?”

“Promise,” Stiles nodded desperately, pawing at Derek’s chest, his neck, his jaw, his hair. “Please, Derek.”

Derek nodded, moving to obey, kissing Stiles quiet and, after lubing his fingers, preparing him calmly and efficiently, the need building and building.

Once Stiles was ready and begging, Derek flipped him with ease onto his stomach, dragging a hand between Stiles’ shoulder blades, and down his back, over his backside and to one of his thighs.

“You ready?” Derek asked cautiously. This would be the first time they had had sex that wasn’t face to face. The last time he had taken Stiles from behind, it had been the night of Kate’s party, when he and Stiles had been made to fuck in front of strangers.

Stiles did not seem to mind in the slightest, fingers clenched in the thin pillow under his face, “Yes, I’m ready.”

Derek fucked him hard and fast for the first time, and already knew that they would be doing as much again. Stiles met his quick thrusts, more vocal than Derek had ever heard him, releasing delicious whimpers and groans. Derek hooked an arm around Stiles’ stomach and used his supernatural strength to keep Stiles in position, saving Stiles’ body and arm the strain, which made the angle and Stiles’ pleasure increasingly enjoyable.

Derek pressed his forehead to Stiles’ glistening back, mouthing at the skin there. He stalled the pace, and rolled his hips slow and sudden and deep, and Stiles bit out a cry, groping blindly for Derek’s hand until Derek slid his up the bed to catch a hold of it. 

“That’s it,” Stiles encouraged, voice wrecked. “There.”

Derek kept the angle, quickened the pace, and had Stiles breaking apart below him, only just able to keep his own building orgasm from peaking too early.

“Oh gods Derek,” Stiles moaned out. “Derek…”

Derek shuddered at the sound of Stiles worshipping his name in such a way, and a sudden overwhelming urge hit Derek like a hurricane.

“Stiles,” Derek groaned into Stiles’ skin, “You have no idea…I want…I want to mark you so badly.”

“You can’t,” Stiles sounded disappointed about the fact, the syllables punched out of him at each thrust, “Can’t leave marks.”

“I know,” Derek responded, feeling the frustration even as the pleasure built to near unbearable levels.

“You can one day,” Stiles promised him, arching his body up against Derek and crying out as his sweet spot was hit once again. “When we are free.”

“It can’t come soon enough,” Derek told him.

“Until then…” Stiles paused, “Keep it to the collar?”

Derek’s hips stuttered and Stiles squeaked. “You what?”

“Go ahead, just keep it to the collar, not too hard.”

“Oh gods,” Derek mumbled, immediately putting his mouth to Stiles’ neck. He could smell him. The want to mark him as his own so strong and new to him that it was overwhelming. He tugged Stiles’ collar up, and dragged blunted teeth against the skin there, hearing Stiles’ groan, feeling him swallow heavily. He did not bite, but he put enough pressure on the skin to prove a point.

Stiles had moved his own hand under himself, stroking himself jerkily.

“That means I’m yours, right?” Stiles clarified, rough and breaking.

Derek whined at the statement, and nodded against Stiles shoulder blades, even though Stiles could not see him. “And that I’m yours.”

Stiles suddenly tightened around him as he came with a moan of Derek’s name. Derek followed straight afterwards.

They collapsed down onto the bed, Derek catching himself on his arms, pulling out and rolling to the side of Stiles, who was still lying on his front, momentarily blacked out.

Derek cleaned and arranged them both a little more comfortably whilst Stiles recovered, and by the time Derek lay back down, Stiles was alert again, pulling himself to Derek’s side, resting half on top of him.

Stiles grinned at him drowsily. “I can mark you too, by the way,” Stiles informed him, “Because you have your super speedy healing back.”

Derek’s head thudded back against the bed, “Do it,” He said immediately. If he had been able to get hard again that quickly, he definitely would have done at that statement.

Stiles obliged, lazily mouthing, and then sucking, at a spot at the top of Derek’s left pectoral, Derek trying to focus above him, feeling more whole, and yet more overwhelmed than he had ever felt.

“There,” Stiles said, patting the mark once he was done, “Now you really are mine.”

Derek thumbed Stiles’ collar up, to see the faint red mark that he had left there, looking forward to the day when he could truly mark Stiles’ as his own, without the mark meaning a death sentence for the man he loved.

“I am yours,” Derek said the same words he had spoken to Kate earlier that day, but whereas he had not meant them when he had said them to Kate – using them as a tool of self-preservation and to avoid suspicion – to Stiles, he meant it and more. He truly did feel like his heart belonged to Stiles, and that it could never belong to anybody else.

Stiles beamed at him, and Derek smiled back, dragging his hand back through Stiles brunet hair, traced the moles on his cheek.

“Maybe we were always meant for each other,” Stiles said thoughtfully, “My dad knew your family, you knew of me years before we ever met. You gifted me your Triskelion. Maybe we were meant to be soul mates all along.”

The words rushed, like ice and fire, through Derek’s veins and into his heart. Because maybe that was it. How had he missed it? The new feelings and emotions and wish to love and claim wholeheartedly? Maybe that was exactly what it was. Werewolves had mates. His parents had been mates, as had his Aunt and Uncle. Peter had not found one by the time of the fire. Derek had never thought he would find any semblance of one. In the Ludus he had previously distanced himself from everyone to avoid the hurt of their probable loss. And before that, well, Werewolves were usually meant to mate with other Werewolves, because of the levels of secrecy between free Weres, and the hatred and prejudice from the majority of the human world, meant that only a Were could love a Were. But Stiles was not like most other people.

Maybe, maybe he did not need a Werewolf mate. Maybe he had found one in his uncoordinated, hyperactive, beautiful human.

“Maybe,” he agreed, staring up at the ceiling, holding Stiles even tighter.

Maybe they were destined to be mates. And whilst that realisation was exhilarating, and breath-taking and wonderful, it was also terrifying. Because mates were for life, and if anything happened to Stiles, it would leave him broken until the end of his days, numbered as they were or not.

He had known it before, that he needed to protect Stiles at all costs, but his new realisation made him promise it to himself all over again. He had to do everything in his power to keep Stiles safe, and set them all free.

He made the promise with hope, but without foresight.

He had the powers of a pack Alpha Were, and he could do all in his power to keep Stiles safe, but he was ultimately a Gladiator, a slave with an eventual expiry date, at the mercy of masters from a hunting background. He and Stiles were both at that mercy. And they were about to learn it all over again.

 

***

Stiles had been dreaming that he was still in Derek’s bed, wrapped up in his strong arms, when he was woken abruptly, jolting upright in his bed in the house slave quarters.

He had been woken by Lydia screaming, long and loud and ear-splitting.

He shared a lightning-fast look of panic with Danny and Matt, who had also been startled awake, before the three of them were scrambling out of bed and racing into the corridor.

They ran into Kira, who rushed out of her and Lydia’s room, the Kitsune cringing and suffering at the pitch of the supernatural scream.

“She isn’t in our room,” Kira called to them, hands over her ears.

They all turned and ran in the direction of the scream. They found Lydia collapsed on the floor metres away from the staircase entrance down to the Ludus, curled up, her hands around her head, screaming louder than she ever had before.

“Lydia,” Stiles snapped desperately, the moment he saw her, “Stop. Stop now.”

He rushed forwards, only to be grabbed from the side and flung backwards.

Shocked, Stiles stumbled, crashing into Danny, staring in horror as Kate Argent shoved Matt aside and charged forwards, grasping Lydia by the hair and shaking her.

“No,” Stiles gasped out, as Danny took a hold of his wrist.

Lydia abruptly stopped, waking with a wrenching gasp, eyes wide and tear filled and confused.

“What?” She exhaled, looking around wildly at the white faces of the boys and Kira across the hall, before her gaze lifted to what was causing her pain.

Kate was looking down at Lydia with a quiet raging fury.

“Domina,” Lydia whispered, “I am sorry for disturbing your sleep.”

Kate scoffed cruelly, “And for nothing else?”

“No,” Lydia’s voice was barely audible.

“No?” Kate repeated. And the next thing they knew, Kate was dragging Lydia up from the cold stone floor by her hair.

“No,” Stiles snarled, wrenching free from Danny, ignoring his urgent, quiet warnings, as he strode forwards, “Let her go.”

Kate snarled at him, throwing out an arm to backhand him across the face, before pulling Lydia across the hall, Lydia scrabbling at the hand that so tightly gripped her hair.

“Lydia!” Kira cried, leaping forwards after them, Stiles, Danny and Matt following.

“If you do not go back to your rooms right this instant and stay there,” Kate warned, voice like blistering ice, “I will have you all hanged.”

Matt stalled abruptly, but Stiles, Danny and Kira kept going.

“Stiles,” Danny muttered, torn and anguished, “She means it.”

Stiles kept going.

“I will have you all hanged!” Kate shrieked.

Danny and Kira stopped.

“Stiles,” Kira whispered, out of Kate’s earshot, “We can’t help Lydia if we are all dead.”

Stiles did not care. He left the others behind. “Stop,” Stiles shouted, angry and only able to exist in the present, ignoring the fear of potential consequences, “You can’t do this.”

Kate glared at him with fury unlike anything he had ever seen. “You,” She turned around, dragging Lydia back with her, and when Stiles reached them, he grabbed onto the side of a struggling Lydia’s dress, terrified to let her go. “You are seriously going to be made to regret this insolence, Stilinski.”

“I don’t care,” Stiles hissed. “Leave her alone! She has done nothing!”

“Nothing?!” Kate snarled, “Don’t you make demands at me you worthless little shit. I should have killed you when I…”

“Now,” Everyone froze at the voice of Gerard Argent, carrying bold and cold across the stone hall. Stiles’ heart beat wildly in his chest, but he did not let go of Lydia. “Isn’t this something?”

He stalked forwards out of the shadows, like a pale, intimidating shadow. Despite being in his sixties, white of hair, and only centimetres taller than Stiles, he was still physically fit, and still seemed to tower over them as he reached where Kate, Lydia and Stiles were standing.

His calm and stony gaze was fixed on Stiles’ face.

“I cannot quite believe what I have just witnessed,” he told Stiles, “The pure insubordination of it.”

“Dominus, I…”

Gerard’s fist cracked against the side of his face hard. He hit the floor immediately, but two more solid punches followed.

“I will deal with you tomorrow,” He promised, low and terrifying once he was done, though Stiles was only partially aware of it, disorientated and sprawled on his back on the floor. “If you three wish to keep your tongues, you will get back to your rooms this fucking instant. Kate, take the girl. And you…” he grabbed Stiles’ wrist and bodily dragged him across the floor to the nearest small storage room in the slave’s corridor, throwing him inside it. “You had best pray that I am lenient tomorrow, because you deserve everything that is coming to you.”

He slammed the door and locked it. And Stiles was imprisoned for the rest of the night, his head pounding, and trying not to imagine what the morning would bring.

***

Isaac had always been an empathetic person, sensitive to the feelings of others, able to sense when things were wrong. Even after the years of abuse from his father and older brother, even after being turned into a Were, and his short time spent being forced to fight and kill in illegal fighting pits, he had never lost that perceptive, emotive part of himself. He had had to learn to hide it from his father and brother, and when he had fought in the pits. He had kept it hidden away when he had been made a Gladiator at the _Lupus Ludus_ , concerned that he would once again be taken advantage of or targeted because of his demeanour, so he had acted unfeeling and antisocial, as the rest of them did.

But that had changed when he had first begun speaking to Erica and Boyd. They had all arrived at the Ludus within six months of each other, and although kept distant from everyone at first, it had not taken long for them to start talking. One day Isaac had been paired up with Erica for training, and the practice fight had ended up with Isaac on his back and Erica smirking down at him smugly. She had, however, held out a hand to pull him to his feet, and told him that although she was a new fighter, and he was not, that he should not go easy on her. She said she had to learn. Isaac fought her again and let himself use his full fighters experience to best her within moments. Erica had beamed at him from the sand, Isaac had extended his hand to help her up, and offered to help to teach her more, if she wanted. She had seemed nice, and he had decided that he wanted to help her if he could. Erica had agreed, and had begun sitting with Isaac at lunchtimes so that they could discuss training, and then later into more friendly personal conversation. It was not all that much later that Erica then asked Boyd to join them, after she and Boyd had started flirting with each other one day in the bath house, or rather, Erica said, she had flirted at Boyd, but Boyd had not seemed to mind in the slightest. Isaac had liked Boyd. Boyd was quiet and yet highly intelligent and observant. He had a calm and honest presence, and over the weeks and months, Boyd had started to open up more and more. And so had Isaac.

By the time Scott McCall had joined the Ludus, Isaac had learned not to bury his empathy, so could sympathise with the new Were that looked so lost, with his big brown eyes and jumpy nerves at being somewhere new and unfriendly. It had been after Scott and Stiles’ altercation with Smith in the dining hall that had made Isaac’s mind up, and he had asked Erica and Boyd if they could help Scott, too. He and Scott made friends quicker than Isaac had ever before made friends with anyone. They had similar personalities, and found it easy to talk to and confide in each other.

With Scott came Stiles, and not long after Jackson and Danny, and finally Derek and Peter Hale had joined their lunchtime group. And with the forming of the group, Isaac’s perception to emotions and feelings of the little group had only intensified. He could pick up on tension or sadness or fear, he thrived on any laughter and smiles and the feeling of being a part of something, of having friends. It had reached a level of trust that had encouraged Isaac to open up for the first time about his father and how he had become a Were, and how he had ended up at the Ludus, and each of his friends had given their own stories in turn.

And after that, over the weeks, learning more and more about his friends, and being trusted with the knowledge that relationships had formed between Erica and Boyd, Derek and Stiles, and Jackson and Lydia, and even being told by Scott in confidence about Lady Allison Argent, he realised that they had not just become a group of friends. He had never been in a pack, or a proper family that cared, but he realised that they had formed the next best thing. And as the pack had grown stronger, through hardship and support and trust, his ability to understand them all had only grown with it.

Which meant that he woke up that morning with the immediate feeling that something was terribly wrong.

He had felt an unfamiliar tension in the air from the moment he had opened his eyes.

He saw Scott first. His friend looked awful, as though he had barely slept.

“Scott?” Isaac asked carefully, “Are you alright?”

Scott looked at him worriedly, “I don’t know. I just feel wrong, like something isn’t right. Did you sense anything last night?”

Isaac had dreamt that he had heard a scream, but other than that, he had sensed nothing until he had woken up that morning with a sense of foreboding.

He had seen Derek emerge from the corridor his room was on, looking wary, sending suspicious glares at the guards.

He asked Derek the same as he had asked Scott. “Derek, are you ok?”

Derek glanced at him, looking paler than usual, his eyes anxious, “Something woke me up. A sound.”

Isaac frowned, “What sound?”

Derek shook his head, “It could be nothing.” He was lying, but Isaac knew that it was best not to pester Derek.

“But it could be something?” Isaac suggested.

Derek stared at him, “Gods, I hope not.”

There was an uneasy presence around their table at breakfast. Derek was constantly eyeing the guards around them, who seemed to be gossiping with each other more than usual, and Jackson looked like he hadn’t slept either, clearly sensing the same something wrong that Scott could, as they were wearing identical frowns of private concern. Peter looked like thunder, but he normally did on a morning. Erica, Boyd and Liam had to be feeling the same tension as Isaac, because nobody spoke, the atmosphere at the table uncomfortable for the first time in months.

That tension broke when one of the head guards sauntered into the room.

“There will be no training for the first hour,” The guard proclaimed. “The Domina has an announcement to make, and Liam Dunbar will receive his _Lupus Ludus_ initiation brand.”

Liam turned anxiously to look at Derek and Peter, who had been training him.

“I don’t understand,” He said, confused and a little panicked, “I thought I had a couple of weeks left? I haven’t completed the training yet! What if they make me fight the tournament at the end of the month?”

Derek was frowning and Peter was still watching the place where the guard had made his speech with a pondering suspicion on his face.

“They won’t have you fight until you have finished the appropriate training,” Derek said, taking on his role of leader and clearly sensing Liam’s worry. “They must have brought the branding forwards for some reason.”

“Maybe Gerard’s leaving soon?” Isaac suggested, hoping to put Liam at ease.

“We can only hope,” Erica inputted with a grin that didn’t meet her eyes.

“I don’t want…” Liam started, putting a hand on the underside of his forearm to cover the old brand of his previous Ludus owner, that would soon have the Argent one branded on top. “I remember what the last one felt like, gods, I don’t want to feel that again.”

“It’s ok,” Scott broke from his strange stupor at the sound of Liam’s distressed voice. He reached out to clasp Liam’s arm, his own brand on show, “We will be there, and we will help you through it.”

Isaac looked down at his own Argent brand, and wondered just when he had gotten used to seeing the ownership brand stark and black on his skin. He sometimes forgot it was there, until he noticed it and hated it all over again.

“We will all be there,” Derek promised.

And so they all were. The whole Ludus, as was the custom of any branding of a new slave or Gladiator. They were ordered onto the sands and told to line up.

Isaac stood in the second row with Derek to one side, and Jackson on the other. Boyd and Erica were to Derek’s left, with Peter and Scott standing in the row in front of them, with Liam between them.

Then Kate and Gerard came out onto the sands, with more guards escorting the house slaves. That was unusual, because normally the house slaves were left to file onto the sands on their own. The house slaves were moved to their usual position, behind Kate and Gerard, facing the Gladiators.

Isaac immediately felt Derek and Jackson tense on either side of him, each reacting to the fact that Stiles and Lydia were not amongst the other slaves.

Scott had noticed too, because he even turned around to glance back at them with panic written all over his face.

“Something was brought to my attention last night,” Kate began without any introductory pomp and circumstance, Gerard standing back, like he was about to observe something. “Something that was most, most disappointing.”

Suddenly, there was movement from the entranceway, and several more guards emerged, leading Stiles and Lydia out onto the sands. Unlike the other house slaves, the pair were both bound at the hands by rope. Lydia looked terrible, her face as white as chalk, her eyes red, her hair wild. She looked positively frantic. Stiles had a split lip and bruises and grazing all down one side of his face. Stiles’ eyes caught on Scott, and on Derek behind him, and Isaac heard Derek growl quiet in his throat, and he elbowed him warningly.

“No,” Jackson whispered on his other side, clearly frightened to see Lydia tied up, “Surely they don’t…” he looked ready to rush forwards, but held himself still, because he knew that doing such a thing would only endanger her more.

'Surely they don’t know', he had meant; that surely they didn’t know about Lydia’s affair with him. Isaac did not know what to say, what to do. He just prayed that that was not the case, that Kate did not know about Jackson and Lydia, and did not know about Stiles and Derek, because it would mean the deaths of all of them, one way or another.

“In fact,” Kate carried on, her eyes intent on the Gladiators before her, “It is downright evil and deceptive. I had the utmost horror of learning last night, that I had a supernatural creature hiding in my very home.” She moved back and snatched Lydia’s bound hands, dragging her forwards, her lip curled in disgust.

Jackson lurched forward, but Isaac grabbed hold of his arm. Jackson stayed. “No, no,” Jackson was muttering under his breath in a mantra. Derek was as rigid as stone on Isaac’s other side, and when he looked at Derek’s face, he saw stunned trepidation there.

“A Banshee!” Kate yelled out, and the word hung in the air like a curse. “A Banshee, in my house!”

Isaac had not known that Lydia was a Banshee, but Jackson seemed to know, and so, it appeared, did Derek. 

“I cannot have a supernatural in my house. In my Ludus, yes, but in my house? Never. And what is even more grotesque…” Kate shook her hold on Lydia, who was openly crying and pulling against her restraints, “Is that this is not the only deception this little witch has thought she could get away with. She has been sneaking down into the Ludus,” and her eyes seemed to bore into the crowd of Gladiators at that, her gaze immediately fixing on Derek, “To fuck one of you!” She threw Lydia to the ground at her feet, her eyes not leaving Derek’s. “No better than a common whore,” She spat. “And I cannot have liars in my house any more than I can have supernatural evil. Weres make good fighters. Banshees are not welcome in any form of society. There are only two outcomes for creatures like this. The first is death,” She smiled sadistically, “But that would not punish her for her betrayals. Which leaves me with the other option.” She paused, staring down at Lydia with disgust. “I am sending her to the mines.”

“No!” Jackson yelled, and before Isaac could stop him, Jackson had broken through the ranks of Gladiators and towards Kate and Gerard. The arrow that thudded into his shoulder in warning from a guard did not slow him in the slightest. “No, don’t!”

Isaac startled when he heard Derek growl again, and he looked up to see that Derek’s eyes were red. Isaac did a double-take, staring at Derek’s collar and back up at his eyes again in shock.

“Derek!” He hissed frantically, making sure that all eyes were on Jackson and not on Derek. He did not care right at that moment how the hells Derek had even managed to overpower his collar. All he cared about was making sure that his Alpha was not seen. “Your eyes are red. Stop it.”

Derek startled, his eyes immediately flicking back to their usual colour, and he stared at Isaac for a moment before looking back to Lydia and Jackson at the sound of Lydia’s voice.

Lydia’s gaze had locked on Jackson at the outburst; the outburst which had clearly revealed which one of the Gladiators that she had been intimate with. The fact that they all knew it now meant that she had no reason not to shout for him. “Jackson!” She cried out in despair, “Jackson, don’t!”

But Jackson had skidded to her side, another arrow hitting him with force in the back. He doubled over, fell to his knees.

“Please Domina,” He begged. “The deception was mine, not hers. It was all my doing. Please, have mercy. Send me instead. Send me instead.”

Kate looked positively shocked, her eyes lifting back up towards Derek with a momentary disbelief and suspicion and then back down at Jackson again. Isaac was glad he had noticed Derek’s eyes when he had, or else they would still have been red.

Kate held up her hand to stall the guards from shooting Jackson again. More guards moved in to keep back the increasingly vocal and angry Gladiators.

“Now why would I do that?” Kate asked Jackson cruelly. “You are my Gladiator. And she is nothing but a freak, a creature that is of no use to any household or arena in the land. I am showing her mercy by sending her to the mines and not killing her where she stands.”

Lydia was crying almost hysterically, falling down to the sands and towards Jackson as much as Kate was allowing her. Jackson reached out and clung to Lydia.

“It will kill her,” Jackson spat, glaring up at his Mistress, “It will kill her slowly and painfully and you know it.”

“Which is how she will be punished,” Kate said, as though explaining to an idiot, “Or I could just kill her here and now. Would you prefer that, Jackson?”

“No!” Jackson snarled.

“Then the mines it is,” She wrenched Lydia away from his grasp again, dragging her a few steps towards the guards that were standing at the locked gates to the outside world, that Stiles had carried an unconscious Lydia through the night of the rogue Were attack.

“Of course,” interrupted a new voice, and Isaac stared at the back of Peter’s head as the Alpha joined in out of the blue, his tone calm and contemplative; entirely out of place amidst the shouts and the screams, but cutting through because of it. “She hasn’t always been a Banshee, has she?” Peter asked Kate conversationally. “She only became one after the attack you organised.”

A silence descended over the entire training ground.

Kate looked livid. Gerard actually looked shocked, only for a second or two, but long enough to be noticeable.

“You…” Lydia cried out, as Jackson glared up at Kate, menacing in his hatred, his face pale with the poison that was starting to seep into his veins from the arrows. Lydia looked more angry than scared, now, “You organised the attack?”

Kate ignored them, glaring at Peter. “And who attacked her, Peter? For money?”

Peter’s shoulders shrugged, and if Isaac could have seen his face, he imagined that it would be that blank, dangerous expression that Peter was an expert at.

“Under blackmail, under orders, with the promise of freedom," Peter waved a idle hand, "Who would not at least consider the offer? Granted not many would actually probably go through with it but…”

“I’ll kill you Peter!” Jackson snarled, “I’ll kill you for this!”

“Enough!” Gerard shouted suddenly, clearly furious, storming over to Kate. “You have let this go on for long enough,” he snapped at her, before turning to take control of the situation. “I want the Gladiators held back, and the girl on the cart outside immediately!”

Guards rushed to obey his commands, two of them ripping Lydia from Jackson’s grip and taking her from Kate, pulling her by the arms towards the gate.

Stiles had started battling against his own guard, and Isaac felt the people around him crowd and push a little closer against the guards holding them back, the air thick with anger, whilst Jackson pushed himself to his feet, attempting to follow Lydia. Gerard kicked him back to the ground.

“Take him to Deaton,” Gerard snapped. “Get him out of my sight before I let the poison take him.”

The guards had dragged Lydia half way to the gate before she started screaming. A real Banshee scream.

Everyone’s hands went to their ears, and whilst Isaac hated the sound, he knew that if he had had full access to his powers that the sound would have been nearly unbearable. Derek’s teeth were gritted in pain beside him, and he looked like he was about to collapse. Isaac knew in that moment that Derek really did have access to all of his powers. Did that mean that he could shift? How was that even possible? And why hadn’t he said anything?

Across the sands, Kira was being held up by Matt and Danny, and it looked like she was suffering badly from the sound too. Luckily, Kate and Gerard and the guards appeared too busy muzzling Lydia’s face to notice.

Once Lydia was silenced, the guards dragged her kicking, and making muffled shrieks, to the gate, unlocked and opened it, and pulled her out.

And then, just like that, Lydia was gone.

Jackson was sobbing, wracked with emotional and physical pain on the sands, and the guards showed little remorse in hauling him up and dragging him off to Deaton’s medical room.

The sands descended into silence again. Isaac glared at Kate, hating her all the more for being the one that had organised all the rogue Were attacks, which surely meant that she had been behind Scott’s attack too. He could not see Scott’s face, but Scott did not seem too shocked. He wondered if Scott knew. Everyone was watching Kate and Gerard, the atmosphere thick with tension.

Kate was wild-eyed, and she spun to glower at them all before she composed herself.

“It is not just the Banshee that I intend to deal with today,” Kate said, her voice ringing over the crowd. “The Banshee was being protected by disloyal and deceitful slaves.” Her glare passed over her house slaves. “One in particular.”

Isaac’s gaze immediately travelled to the beaten Stiles, who was now being held between two guards. Isaac knew who it was that Kate was talking about. The way that Derek made a small, distressed sound through his teeth was indication enough.

“Hiding such secrets, aiding a supernatural under my roof, repeated acts of misbehaviour and insubordination cannot go unpunished.” Kate turned to the guards holding Stiles, “Put him on the post.”

“No,” Derek breathed, and he made an abrupt movement, like he was about to move forwards. Luckily, Boyd noticed the movement as Isaac did, and they both discreetly held Derek back, as much as they hated doing so.

“Stiles!” Scott had sprung into action, fighting the guards in front of him in an attempt to get through. “No! Don’t do this to him! Stiles!”

“She doesn’t know about you and him,” Isaac heard Boyd mutter to Derek, “If you do this now she will realise and she will send him away as well, if she doesn’t kill him.”

“This might kill him,” Derek argued on a whisper, eyes wide in horror as they watched Stiles be pulled, kicking and battling, to the wooden post at the edge of the sands.

It was a post that Isaac had only ever seen used twice before. Each time it had been brutal to be made to watch. One time it had been a Were, and one time it had been a human slave. He had remembered how the human had cried and begged and screamed, and it had been enough to scare Isaac into obeying the commands of the guards all the more, for fear of having the same done to him.

“But he has a better chance,” Boyd tried, voice heavy and apologetic, “I’m sorry, Derek.”

Scott was still fighting against the guards, until Stiles was shoved around to face the post, and so faced all of them.

“Don’t Scott,” Stiles pleaded, looking defiant but scared, as his open shirt was ripped from him, baring his lean but toned torso and stomach to the Gladiators. He fixed Scott with a look, before his eyes flicked up to Derek, “Don’t,” he said again, desperate, begging, “Please.”  And although he seemed to be saying the warning a second time to Scott, Isaac knew he was talking to Derek, too. He knew what worse things could happen if Scott or Derek, or any of them, caused a scene.

Scott stopped fighting the moment Stiles had looked at him, conveying a message in the way only the two of them seemed to understand, after years of practice.

Derek gave a shuddering intake of breath. His fingers curling and uncurling in his palms. His expression betrayed how terrified and trapped he felt.

Stiles was roughly pulled forwards and pushed to a kneeling position, and his hands tied around the post, up above his head height, stretching his arms up and his back out. A guard walked out onto the sands and held a whip out to Kate.

Derek made a pained noise beside Isaac. Scott had backed up and away, so much so that he ran into Derek.

“Derek…” Scott whined quietly.

Derek reached forwards and wrapped his fingers around Scott’s arm. “I’m sorry,” Derek murmured helplessly, heartbroken, and Scott let out a powerless, angry sob. Isaac took hold of Scott’s arm too, squeezing it in some attempt of comfort.

Stiles kept his gaze on the Gladiators before him, but sent Kate a defiant glare as she approached.

“This will teach you what happens when you betray us, Stiles,” Kate told him, before throwing out to the unwilling audience, “Anybody who does not watch will be made to.”

The first crack of the whip against his back had Stiles’ eyes widening in surprise, but he did not make a noise other than a small ‘ugh’ as the air was forced out of him, and he kept his eyes fixedly open. The second had him visibly gritting his teeth. The third caused a pained grunt. The sounds of the whip hitting and slicing flesh filled the silence that had fallen, and it was sickening. Stiles’ skin had gone bloodlessly pale, his eyes fixed above the heads of those before him, and he appeared to be muttering to himself.

Derek suddenly made a twisted noise, a sort of growling snarl, and Isaac looked down to see with shock that Derek’s hands had shifted to claws.

“Derek,” Isaac warned, quiet and sharp.

“I can’t…stop,” Derek said with effort, clearly keeping his mouth closed around elongated fangs. He had lost control at the sight of Stiles being hurt, and he could do nothing about it.

But there was something that Isaac could do to help Derek. Isaac shifted slightly, in order to block Derek’s body, and his hands from view, whilst Scott, Boyd and Erica, who also seemed to have noticed, moved to do the same.

The fourth whip hit had Stiles letting out another pained noise through his teeth, and a single tear tracked its way down his face.

“You are going to have to try harder than that,” Stiles bit out, and although it was choked, it was full of venom. And the whole group tensed.

Kate, clearly frustrated that Stiles remained so composed and defiant, hit him again, and it looked like she hit him harder. Stiles let out a strangled sobbing noise, his head thumping audibly against the wooden post.

“Derek,” Isaac warned again under his breath as Derek jerked with the sound of it.

They had to endure ten more before Stiles looked near to passing out, without giving her the satisfaction of actually screaming, and Kate delivered five more, with Scott shouting at her to stop all the while. Twenty lashes to anybody was a tough pain to bear, let alone to a young human.

Derek was practically shaking behind him, all of their eyes fixed on Stiles, as the guards cut the ties on his hands and he slumped down, unconscious, face tear-streaked, propped forwards against the post, trickles of blood rolling down from the tops of his shoulders and down his sides. One of the guards gripped Stiles’ hair, pulled him back, and dropped him face first onto the sand. It was only then that they all saw the state of his back; lots of separate lash wounds, of varying depths, spider webbing his back with bloody lines of open flesh. 

Derek let out a strangled, devastated noise, which was drowned out to their masters by Scott’s shout of horror.

“Stiles!” Scott called out desperately, voice thick with tears, whilst Derek whispered the same. Isaac felt for him, the pain and hurt he felt already was intensified even more because of those same emotions that he could feel coming from Derek and Scott.

***

Kate dropped the bloodied whip on the sands, and rounded the post and Stiles’ lifeless form, to stand before them all again, her father watching on with satisfaction at the punishment delivered.

She pointed at Stiles where he laid face first on the sand.

“That,” She shouted at them all, “That is what happens when you betray me. Disobey me.”

Derek had never hated her more than he had in that moment. It was a burning, vengeful, firing fury that he had never, ever felt before. He could not force his eyes away from Stiles’ body, his beautiful body, sliced up by the woman that had ruined both of their lives. Stiles wasn’t moving, and Derek could feel bile building in the back of his throat. Stiles wasn’t moving.

He had just had to endure seeing Stiles receive twenty lashes, and with the full use of his powers, he had had to hear the whip hitting Stiles’ skin, each little sound of pain that Stiles made, the thundering ache of his heart, the smell of his blood, in perfect clarity. He had heard Stiles muttering under his breath; saying Derek’s name, begging him to stay where he was, and Derek had been unable to do anything but obey. Derek felt faint, numb, sick, and so, so hurt. He had just had to witness Stiles be tortured without being able to do anything about it, because if he had intervened, Stiles’ fate could have become a hundred times worse. That fact did not make him feel any less like a useless bystander, but Stiles had begged him not to interfere, and so he had obeyed Stiles’ wish.

He had even been unable to stop his body shifting in reaction to the trauma of having to watch it. He had Isaac, Boyd, Erica and Scott to thank for hiding his clawed hands from view when he couldn’t transform back. It made him feel even more inadequate as an Alpha who was supposed to be strong for them all. It was understandable that he had not been able to control his emotions at the sight of Stiles, the man he loved, his potential mate, being hurt in such a way, but he had not even been able to protect Stiles in the first place.

Stiles needed help, and he needed it fast. None of them had been able to stop what had happened from happening; Lydia being taken away to the mines or Stiles being whipped, but he could do what needed to be done to help Stiles heal afterwards and ensure that Stiles would never have to endure such a thing again. Derek would see all those that had caused this dead for what they had done.

He wanted nothing more than to rush to Stiles’ side, pick him off the floor, wrap him in his arms, tell him he was sorry, carry him to Deaton to make sure that Stiles was taken care of. But again, he could not do that, because then Kate would know. She would figure it out. His insides burned, his eyes hurt from holding back tears that threatened still to spill, and the back of his throat felt thick and heavy.

Stiles needed help, quickly. He could die from blood loss or infection if left too long, or, more likely, he could die from the shock. 

“Peter,” Kate snapped, “Seeing as you decided to inform all your brothers of the sand that you work for me, you may as well carry him off to Deaton. His blood can be on your hands.”

Peter did not bother to give her a response. He stepped forward, through the guards holding them back, his head held high, until he reached Stiles. He dropped into a crouch beside him, and Derek did not need to worry that his uncle would not treat Stiles with the utmost care. Peter did not like many people, but he did like Stiles.

Peter reached out a hand, curved his fingers back over Stiles’ ear.

“Stiles?” he asked, quiet, but Derek was able to hear it easily.

There was no response. Derek could still hear Stiles’ heartbeat, but that did not mean that Stiles was safe.

“Peter is he…” Scott started to ask, voice tear-choked and gasping, worn out from his constant fight with the guards that held him back.

“Silence!” Gerard snapped at him.

“He’s breathing,” Peter confirmed anyway. “Ok,” he then said, when he had received no answer from Stiles. “Come on.”

Carefully, Peter went about manoeuvring Stiles in order to pick him up. He pulled him up to a crouch, keeping Stiles’ face close to his chest, blocking him from view, in order to keep Stiles’ wounds from touching the sand. He then went about pulling Stiles up and into his arms, one arm under Stiles’ legs, and the other around the very top of Stiles’ shoulders and his neck, holding Stiles to his chest.

Stiles made a noise of protest at the movement, curling further into Peter’s body.

“I know, kid, I know,” Peter murmured to him softly. “It’s alright. I’ve got you.”

And with that, Peter turned and strode towards Deaton’s medical room, without looking back, completely ignoring Gerard and Kate as he passed them.

Derek could not help but be reminded of the way a burnt and broken Peter had carried Cora out of the burning building of their family home. There would be repercussions for what Peter had done in calling Kate out in front of everybody, but Derek would stand by his uncle for whatever may happen next.

Derek tried not to look at Stiles’ blood, spattered on the sand, and wished more than anything that he could go with Stiles and Peter, and be there for Stiles when he needed him.

“And the final part of today’s agenda,” Kate carried on, as though they weren't all standing in complete and utter shock. “Liam Dunbar will join your ranks, officially becoming my property. Argent property.”

“Domina, if I may,” Derek stepped forward then, pushing his way to Liam’s side, the shorter boy looking up at him nervously. Derek had been unable to protect Stiles and Jackson and Lydia, but he could do what he could to protect Liam. “Deaton will be busy with Jackson and Stiles. He is the one who normally assists with the branding.”

“That is true,” Gerard spoke up, “But he is not needed.” Gerard’s narrow-eyed glare was fixed on him distastefully. “I was involved in multiple brandings in the past, as you well remember, Derek. As Liam’s new master, Kate will brand him and I will assist.”

Derek swallowed, and Liam shifted a step closer to his side.

“Liam. Come here, now,” Kate ordered.

Liam looked up at Derek again.

“Derek is not your master. He has been your mentor, but not after today,” Kate told him sternly, dangerously impatient. “Now come here.”

Liam haltingly walked forwards, purposefully circling around the bloodied area of the whipping post, and the whip itself, still lying in the sands.

The brand iron was heated, Liam held, and his wide young eyes watched Derek, frightened, until the brand was burned into his skin, and the black ointment that prevented it from healing and turned it a stark black was applied. Liam’s eyes slammed shut.

“You all belong to me,” Kate said whilst she branded the boy, pressing the brand into his flesh, “You are all my property. And you will do what you are bid. If you disobey me, if you start relations with each other, if you disrespect me or my family, I will have you tortured, I will have you sent off to the mines. I will have you killed.”

The moment Liam was branded, Kate shoved him towards Derek.

“Take him to Deaton.”

Derek did not protest, taking Liam’s unburned arm and steering him across the sands, away from Kate and Gerard and the house slaves and the Gladiators and Stiles’ blood on the sand.

Liam was crying quietly to himself, and Derek immediately softened his hold on Liam’s arm.

“You’ll be ok,” he told Liam quietly once they were out of earshot. “And you won’t have to bear that mark of possession for much longer. I promise you that.”

Liam looked up at him, “We are still going to escape?”

“I am more determined of that than ever,” Derek swore. “Sooner rather than later, and we will destroy all that they have.”

Liam sniffed, walked a little closer to Derek’s side, “Good.”

They reached Deaton’s surgery, and the moment Derek pushed open the door, he was hit by the stench of Stiles’ blood.

“Oh gods,” Derek choked, spotting Stiles immediately, where he lay on his front on Deaton’s table, his back covered in dampened white bandages which were already staining red, and various herbs and ointments. Deaton was still applying more, and Stiles was gasping wetly, his face turned away from the door, and his fingers tight around Peter’s, who stood beside him.

Peter looked up at the sound of Derek’s voice, and Stiles asked, voice tired and full of pain, “Derek?”

“Stiles,” Derek breathed, rounding the table and kneeling down next to Peter to see Stiles’ face. “I’m here.”

Stiles’ face was tear stained and pale, his gaze hazy. “Derek,” Stiles said again, whining and scrunching his eyes up as Deaton applied another piece, showing the pain he was in now he was away from everyone on the sands.

“I’m here, Stiles,” Derek told him softly, as Peter placed Stiles’ hand in Derek’s instead. “I’m here now.”

“Hurts, Derek,” Stiles groaned, tears rolling down his face.

“I know,” Derek soothed, stroking Stiles’ hair with his free hand, blinking his own tears from his eyes. “I’m sorry. I know it does.”

“I’m so…sorry,” Stiles gasped.

“No,” Derek said, “No, you don’t get to say that.”

“You shouldn’t have had to watch. And you will be blaming yourself. You shouldn’t.”

Derek hushed him, continuing to stroke Stiles’ hair, trying to ignore the smell of blood and how it twisted him up inside. “You were so brave.”

“I do try,” Stiles choked out a hitching laugh, tears leaking from his eyes. “I…I’m glad you’re here.”

Derek pressed his lips to Stiles’ fingers desperately. “I love you.”

Stiles' smile faltered and he gasped out as Deaton applied another bandage. His eyes closed tightly again. "Ow, ow, ow..." he whimpered.

"It's alright, Stiles, I've got you," Derek whispered to him, and he began to leech the pain out of Stiles. "I'll make it feel better. You just have to carry on being strong for me. You can do that, can't you?"

"Uh-huh," Stiles nodded, his fingers clenching around Derek's. 

"That's good Stiles," Derek encouraged, watching Stiles' face closely for any signs of overwhelming pain, "You are doing so good."

Stiles sighed, his eyes slipping closed in relief as Derek's attempts to ease the pain started to work, mumbling a garbled ‘love you’ in return.

Deaton took one look at the black veins in Derek’s arm, and stared at Derek like he wasn’t quite sure he was truly seeing it.

“We have things to talk about,” was all Deaton said. “And you make sure you keep that hidden.”

Derek nodded, thankful, relieved, “Thank you.”

Peter had moved to check on Liam. “What ointment does _The Kid_ need?”

Deaton pointed them out, and to Derek’s surprise, Peter set about fixing Liam up.

Peter caught his gaze. “Just playing my part of pack Wiseman guru,” Peter offered sarcastically.

Derek still smiled gratefully, before looking back at Stiles, who was out of it, breathing heavily.

“I gave him drugs just before you came in,” Deaton explained. “I told the guards they were making the situation worse by being here, and made them leave. But they will be back for Jackson soon. Be careful they don’t see you.”

Derek nodded sadly, “Stiles is out of it?”

“Yes, and he will be for the next few hours,” Deaton said.

Derek sighed, leaning forwards to kiss Stiles’ temple.

He stood up, still taking pain from Stiles, forcing himself to look at Stiles’ back, his stomach roiling in hurting, devastated sympathy. “Will he heal?”

“I think we are thankfully past the point of the shock killing him, so it's just a matter of slow recovery, now. He might have some slight scarring, but with my potions he has a better chance as any to make a full recovery.”

“Thank you, Deaton,” Derek said again, clasping Deaton’s arm. “I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

“When you all decide it’s time to leave, take me with you,” Deaton said. “And before that, I hope you will tell me all about your newfound ability, because it was thought to be impossible. But first,” Deaton nodded towards one of the doors out of the room, which was locked. “I need you to talk to Jackson.”

Derek was reluctant to leave Stiles, but one of the Betas of the pack was hurting, Derek could feel it through the closed door, and he needed to help him.

He opened the door and found Jackson glaring back at him. His arrow wounds were mostly healed, and the collar was back on him, stark and black against his neck. He was chained by it to the wall.

“Jackson,” Derek said.

“Did you know?” Jackson snarled, “Did you know about Peter?”

“I did. And so did Scott and so did Stiles. We did not know how to tell you.”

“Would you?” Jackson accused, “Would you ever have told her? Told us?”

“Eventually, yes,” Derek said, feeling terrible once again for having lied to Jackson and Lydia. “But I knew that if we had any chance of getting out of this place, that we would need to do it together. I knew that if you knew about Peter too soon, that it could rip us apart.”

“Well, it’s too late now,” Jackson snapped.

Derek felt his heart sink, his stomach twist. Knowing that one of his Betas had turned on him already hurt more than he ever imagined it could.

“We’ve already been ripped apart,” Jackson continued. His lip wobbled. “Because she’s gone, Derek.” And the brave Beta Gladiator who hated to show any sort of major emotion or feeling, broke down before his very eyes for the second time that day. “She’s gone.”

“No,” Derek said. He strode forwards and dropped to his knees in front of Jackson. He held Jackson’s face in his hands and forced him to look at him. “No. Because we are getting out of here. We are getting out of here soon. And we will go to the mines they have sent her to and we won’t leave that place until we walk out of there with Lydia. I promise you that. I promise you.”

“How can I trust you? I don’t trust Peter, and you kept his secret…”

“I know you love Lydia like I love Stiles, and I would like to think if it had been Stiles that had been taken that you would be promising the same to me. We will save Lydia.”

“I heard what happened to Stiles,” Jackson said, “I have heard him through the door. I’m sorry.” He sniffed loudly, wiping furiously at his eyes. “You say we can save her, but they could already be hurting her. They could work her to death within months. And we don’t even have a plan to get out.”

Derek, for loss of anything else to convince Jackson that he meant it, changed his eyes to Alpha red in answer, and Jackson stared at him, his mouth dropping open. “I have a plan,” Derek said. “Because we have more secret weapons than the Argents could ever imagine. We have me, we have Kira, we know where the keys to the collars are. And we have the support of Allison Argent.”

***

The following day, when Allison heard what her aunt and her grandfather had done to Stiles and Lydia, she had fled to her father in tears.

“Father, please,” She begged, “Let me go and see him. I need to see him.”

Her father had taken her to her aunt's house, and had spoken angrily with his sister and father out of Allison’s earshot. Allison had even faked a hate-filled statement that although Scott meant nothing to her now, Stiles was still human, and that she still cared for the welfare of her former slave.

“Please, Aunt Kate,” She said, hating every word that left her own mouth, but having to say them for the sake of persuading them to allow her to see Stiles. “Please let me and father go to see him. I understand why you punished him. Stiles lied to you and betrayed you. But he was still my slave, who I grew up knowing. I would like to check on his welfare, just to see if he has recovered, and to hear that his lesson is learned so that he does not make the same mistakes again.”

Her aunt rolled her eyes impatiently, and turned back to the paperwork she was perusing with Allison’s grandfather.

“Fine,” Kate said. “I don’t have time to take her. Chris, you go, if you care so much.”

Her grandfather had looked at Allison and her father with disappointment, but did not say a word. Her father apparently ignored the loaded look, because he turned on his heel, ordering Allison to follow him.

And so Allison’s father took her down into the Ludus and to Deaton’s surgery.

Stiles was being kept in a room off from the surgery, and the moment Allison was let inside she flew to the bedside.

“Stiles!”

Stiles was lying on his front, his face turned to her, but his eyes were shut. At the sound of her voice, his eyes cracked open and he looked at her in confusion.

“Allison?” he slurred, “Am I still on drugs or are you really here?”

“I am really here,” Allison tried to smile through her tears. “I am so so sorry that they did this to you. Gods, Stiles, I am so so sorry.” She hovered her hand over the thick bandages over his back, not wanting to know what mess lay beneath. She took a long shuddering breath and clasped Stiles’ flailing hand to her chest.

“Scott came earlier,” Stiles murmured, a little dazedly, “He cried like you are.”

“That is because you are hurt, Stiles,” Allison told him softly, wavering with emotion, with guilt at her family’s cruelty, “And we love you.”

“You will help us get out of here,” Stiles whispered, “Won’t you?”

“With all my heart, and everything I have,” She vowed. “I will help you all get out of here.”

Whilst her father visited Stiles, shutting the door behind him so that Allison and Deaton could not hear, Allison turned to Deaton.

“I need to see Derek Hale.”

Thankfully, Deaton did not ask questions. “He is in the next room along the sands from the surgery, training Liam.”

“Tell my father I have gone to look at weapons. Stall him. Anything you can do to give me some time. Please.”

“My lady,” Deaton said, nodding his head.

“Thank you,” she breathed, before leaving the room.

The moment she walked outside, her keen archers eyes were scanning the sands for any guards that had noticed her presence. There were none in the shadowed walkway between the surgery and the training room, and those that surrounded the sands were either busy watching the training Gladiators, or too high up on the training ground walls to see her if she pressed back against the wall. With the trained stealth of a hunter, she slipped up the walkway and into the training room within seconds.

She shut the door behind her, and Derek Hale, Peter Hale, and Liam Dunbar turned around to stare at her.

“My lady,” Peter leered at her, “What a pleasant surprise.”

Allison narrowed her eyes at him. She had not properly seen the Were since she had learned that he had been the one that had attacked Scott under her aunt’s orders, but she had no time to call him out on it right at that moment.

“Peter,” Derek admonished his uncle. “My lady,” he nodded his head in recognition to her status, looking curious yet wary. “What can we do for you?”

“I need to speak to you, Derek,” Allison said. She shot a glare at Peter. “Alone.”

Derek looked even more cautious, but after an exchanged glance with Peter, he nodded again and motioned to the next room. “We can go in here.”

Allison followed Derek inside, closed the door behind them and turned around. It was the first time she had ever been alone in a room with Derek Hale – or any of the Ludus Weres other than Scott – but she was not intimidated. Derek was impressive, with his huge, chiselled muscles and serious expression, but she could see the softness there, the softness and innocence of a man who was far younger than he had been forced to act. The softness and the man that Stiles had clearly fallen for.

Derek was staring at the pendant of her Argent crest necklace.

“You have one of those?” he sounded surprised.

Allison’s hand automatically lifted to wrap around it. “My aunt gave it to me as a gift not long ago, after I started lying to her to get her to trust me.”

Derek’s eyes flicked up to hers and back down again, looking almost longingly at her hand, where her pendant lay underneath.

“You know that that would open the safe under her bed where she keeps the collar keys?”

Allison blinked, “She keeps them under her bed?” She repeated incredulously.

Derek nodded.

Allison could have lingered on that, but she did not have the time.

“Well, that isn’t the only thing that it opens. I do not have long Derek, but I need to tell you that I have done what Stiles asked of me. I am sorry it took so long. But I found a hidden safe in my father’s office, and I managed to open it with this.” She released the pendant again. It thudded softly against her chest. “And I have answers for you.”

She actually watched as Derek’s eyes filled with hope, and was very sorry that she was about to extinguish them again somewhat.

“You…” he started, voice hushed and quick, “You know where my sisters are?”

“Yes, my father’s safe included information as to your sister’s whereabouts."

“And?” Derek encouraged eager and impatient after seven years of not knowing of his sisters' welfares.

Allison paused, finding it even harder than she imagined to break the news, “I am about to tell you things that will hurt. They will be upsetting, Derek, and for that I am truly, truly sorry.”

Derek’s face fell instantly, his eyes shining, “They are dead, aren’t they?”

“They were both in the house of Lord Tennesson for about nineteen months; that is the Lord that my grandfather and aunt originally sent them to. But then Laura tried to stage some kind of uprising, or a mass escape. I am sorry, Derek, but not long after that they sent her off to a group of mines in the South West – the Forest Mines, they call them – and I don’t know any more than that.”

Derek blinked, and a tear rolled down his cheek. He did not seem to notice. “That was over five years ago,” he said brokenly. “What are the chances that she escaped? That she is alive?”

“I honestly don’t know, Derek.”

“They are slim, aren’t they?”

“I don’t know,” Allison said again, “I am sorry.”

Derek shifted on his feet, unable to meet her eyes, but not moving to wipe the tear off his cheek. “And Cora?” he asked, almost like he was afraid to know.

“She was sold on to a Lord and Lady Aros, not far away from Lord Tennesson’s house, as a house slave, not as a Gladiator. Again, I have no further information from there. But she could well still be there, to be the bargaining chip that my Aunt Kate needed to use against you and Peter, because she also has connections with the Aros’.”

She could see Derek’s processing of the news through the tiny shifts in his facial expression, but unfortunately she did not have the time to let him allow the news to sink in, she had more bad news to share. And this had been the discovery that had really shocked her to her very core.

“There is more that I found, Derek.”

Derek looked back at her hesitantly. He did not look like he particularly wanted to know. “What is it?”

“I found a file in my father’s safe; an investigative file, about a house fire. Your family’s house fire. There were notes made by the investigator about the fire, about suspicions about its cause. And by the end of the file, the evidence collected and the notes made make it pretty clear…” she paused, held her breath, and could not help but ready herself, just in case she had to defend herself or run. “The investigator thought that my aunt set the fire.”

Instead of spiralling into a rage, Derek’s face crumpled. “What?” he whispered.

“The file, the evidence, suggests that my aunt found out about your family, and that she caused the fire. I don’t know why my father has the file, but the evidence points to her. Maybe that is why he has it, because he was worried that the evidence in that file could have been found. Derek, I am so sorry. I had no idea.”

Derek had staggered backwards, hitting the far wall and sliding down it, devastated.

“She killed my family, destroyed our home, sent off my sisters, enslaved me and my uncle, used my body so many times that I have lost count…” Derek trailed off, haunted and emotionally exhausted in that moment, “She has tortured the man I love,” he added, looking up at her with tear filled, angry eyes and Allison knew he was talking about Stiles’ whipping, and maybe other things too that she did not even know about. “She has taken almost everything from me.”

“Not just from you,” She whispered, and she did not just mean the loss Allison felt of whatever shred of familial respect she had ever held for her Aunt, and for her grandfather. She did not mean that she now had wavering faith and trust in her parents. She did not even mean what Kate had taken from Scott by having him attacked. Allison was talking about something else, something that hurt her more than everything else she had found.

“What do you mean?” Derek asked her.

She reached into the small bag that she carried with her, and took something out of it. She threw it to Derek, and he caught it with startlingly fast reflexes for a Were cut off from his powers by his collar.

“I think you may know what this is,” she said, her voice wobbling, as Derek opened his palm and saw the small Triskelion in his palm.

He seemed to recognise it immediately, and he closed his fist around it, held it to his chest. “How did you get this?” 

“I found it with the file about the fire,” she whispered. She swallowed as her own eyes brimmed. “The man who was investigating the fire and the deaths of your family, the man who believed my aunt was responsible…it was Sherriff John Stilinski. And I think…” she took a deep, trembling breath, “I think my family might also be behind the death of Stiles’ father.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been 3 months since my last update, and I feel terrible. I am so so sorry for the long wait!  
> Thank you so much to everyone who has left comments, I will be replying to them all asap!
> 
> I have written you all a super extra long chapter to make up for the wait. I hope it's worth it. I will try my hardest to post the final two updates quicker!


	13. Chapter 13

Scott paced up and down the cell, deep in thought.

“What do you think I should do?” Derek asked him from where he was leant against the wall, watching Scott as he moved.

If eight months ago, someone had told Scott that he would be providing counsel to the _Undefeated Alpha,_ he would have told them that they were crazy. But here he is. The situation is still crazy, though. Painful and fucked up and absolutely crazy.

Derek had just told him what Allison had revealed to him the day before. Whilst it had been heart wrenching to hear, he could believe all too well that Kate had been responsible for the murder of Derek’s family and probably Stiles’ father as well. Derek was asking for Scott’s advice on how in the hells he was supposed to tell Stiles. Scott honestly did not know the answer.

“He is still in the first few days of recovery.” Derek was worrying; Scott could see it in the tightness of his mouth and his eyes. “I don’t want to affect that in any way. But I don’t want to wait and have him think I have been keeping information like that from him. Not after what’s happened with keeping Peter being the rogue Alpha from Jackson and Lydia.”

It was concerning Scott too; it was a choice between either distressing Stiles’ healing or having him be upset further down the line that they had kept such life changing information from him. It was not an easy decision to make, but Scott would rather face Stiles’ anger than his condition worsening.

“We will wait,” Scott decided. “Wait until he is healed enough to be able to walk, at least. You won’t have to tell him alone,” he promised, “We can tell him together.”

Derek sent him a small smile, “Thanks.”

“I am really sorry about what she did to your family,” Scott told him softly. He felt awful when he saw that small smile wobble.

“Me too.” Derek looked down at his hands. “After everything she has done, to find out that she was behind the fire as well…and knowing that she did that and then proceeded to make sure that me and my sisters were split up…and now I don’t know if Laura is even still alive or not...I don’t know how I am going to be able face Kate again and not want to actually follow through with every time I have imagined murdering her. I just can’t…” he glanced back up at Scott and grimaced with embarrassment, halting his uncharacteristic outburst immediately, “Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologise. And you don’t just have to take the burden of our troubles, Derek,” Scott reminded him, “You know you can tell us things too. We’re your pack. You don’t have to be strong all the time; you have us for support now.”

“I thank you for it,” Derek said, “But I have already failed you all in what happened with Jackson…” he trailed off.

Jackson had been in solitary confinement since Lydia had been sent away and Kate and Gerard had found out that Jackson and Lydia had had a secret relationship. None of them had seen him. But they knew where he was, chained up in a locked solitary cell near the guard’s room. Scott knew that Derek was feeling guilty for having kept the secret of Peter’s being the rogue Were behind Lydia’s attack, because Scott felt guilty for keeping the secret too. He knew Derek was worried that Jackson blamed him as much as Peter for what had happened, but Scott hoped that somehow, despite everything, Jackson would maybe understand, or at least come to forgive them by the time he was released. Derek, however, seemed to be worrying that Jackson’s hate would only thrive whilst he was on his own, and that he would cut all ties as soon as he was allowed to join them again. _If_ he was allowed to join them again; there had been rumours that Kate had been planning to sell Jackson on to another Ludus, and not let Danny go with him.

Scott tried to remain optimistic. “He will come around, once we figure out the plan of escape, because he knows we are the best hope of getting Lydia back. And now you are able to overpower your collar, we will have a much better chance.”

After Stiles’ public punishment and their pack having to subtly shield and calm Derek’s uncontrolled shifting from the eyes of Kate, Gerard and the guards, Derek had revealed to them what he had been able to do since the night of his and Boyd’s fight at the party.

“I hope so,” Derek said with a sigh, “It’s just a matter of figuring out _how_ we use it to get out of here.”

“Maybe if we…” Scott started, but he was cut off by a scream from outside the door.

It was an enraged roar, and the most wolf-like sound Scott had ever heard from an unshifted human.   

Derek had frozen for a second, but was already moving towards the door, looking panicked.

“What was…”

“Peter,” Derek said by way of explanation, yanking open the door to his cell and running towards Peter’s.

Scott followed on his heels.

They burst into Peter’s cell just in time to see him flip his bed over, sending the sheet and the frame flying in all directions.

“Peter!” Derek yelled, dodging around the mess on the floor and trying to get to his wild-eyed uncle. “What the gods are you doing?”

“She’s stolen it,” Peter hissed, getting right up in Derek’s face.

Scott stalled, staying back near the door.

“She’s taken the money?” Derek asked.

Peter snarled affirmative and went back to ripping into the thin mattress of the bed, presumably where he had kept some of his winnings.

“She’s taken the whole fucking lot,” Peter spat, “That fucking _bitch_. She’s stolen from me. That was mine by rights! I’d earned it. It was mine!” His fist drew back to punch the wall, but Derek caught it before it could collide.

“Peter, calm down,” Derek ordered, and Scott watched his eyes glow red as he used his Were strength to overpower Peter’s fist. “Calm down. She wants to make you angry. She wants you to make a mistake and give her a reason to get you punished.”

“Well she’s doing a good job of it,” Peter raged, wrenching free of Derek, picking up the metal water jug and throwing it into the wall.

“You are going to have the guards coming,” Scott warned, closing the door properly behind him in an attempt to shut out the noise.

“Let them come,” Peter snapped. “I’ll kill the whole fucking lot of them!”

“Peter!” Derek insisted, grabbing hold of Peter again, “Don’t.”

Peter stopped throwing things, but started muttering furiously instead, “This is because I told everyone she had me doing work for her. I know what this is for. This is about revenge. So she’s taken it all from me. Just like she took Mother and Talia and David, Thomas, Marie and the children…setting the fucking fire. We should have known! We should have known. And now she’s taken the money that was going to buy our freedom, and Laura and Cora’s, and now we know Laura isn’t even there! After she’s blackmailed us with it for years…all my fucking money, Derek…”

“She did it to you the last time you got too close to buying your freedom,” Derek sighed, “I warned you it would happen again.”

“I thought I’d been clever in stowing it this time,” Peter said, and started wagging his finger thoughtfully, the fury still there, but matched with cunning now too. “But not clever enough. We have to be cleverer than that.” He pushed against Derek’s chest with a closed fist, suddenly grinning manically. “We won’t need the fucking money to get out of here. We’ll get out ourselves. It’s time we finally got a rebellion in action. We have the means now and we now know everything that’s at stake. Give me until the end of the week.” He stalked past Scott to the door, opened it. “I’ll have a gods damn escape plan sorted,” he said with certainty, before shutting it behind him.

Scott and Derek were left standing in the midst of the remains of Peter’s rage, staring at each other.

“What just happened?” Scott asked.

Derek shrugged, headed towards the door and said with utter confidence; “Peter’s going to find us a way out.”

***

It took Peter less than a week.

“Listen,” Peter said, motioning for Derek to sit. “I have a plan.”

Derek did as he was told, sitting down on the bed in his cell, where Peter had just ushered him. When he had first seen Peter in his fit of rage, he was worried that Peter was going to do something foolhardy in his anger, get himself punished or killed. But it had not taken long for Peter’s hate to focus elsewhere, for him to realise that the best revenge was to start the rebellion as soon as possible. Derek had watched Peter for the last few days, watched him watch people, calculate, plot. It was something Peter had always been very good at, for better or worse.

“There are two big tournaments coming up this month.”

“The _Hunter’s Moon_ in two weeks,” Derek said, when Peter seemed to be waiting for him to tell him what they were. “The _Blood Moon_ a week after that.”

Peter smacked a palm against the small wooden chest he had perched on, and pointed at Derek, “That is when we make our move. Between the two.”

Derek motioned for Peter to continue, listening intently. Peter grinned.

“This month is the pride of the Lords and Ladies of a hunter’s background. The _Hunter’s Moon_ is a celebration of them hunting down, killing and enslaving all those vicious, feral supernatural beasts. There are parties and celebrations, and every noble of hunting stock wants to show off just how they have made their ancestors oh so proud. The _Blood Moon_ that follows is always the bloodiest of the tournaments, with the Alpha-Shift fights, and the fights where they pit criminal humans against Weres to see who will make it out alive, to show just how we are still all beasts, and that the Hunters have done such a good job of taming us. We will escape between the two tournaments. You know this month is always a crescendo to the _Blue Moon_ and _Lunar Eclipse_ tournaments at the end of the year, and how every notable Dominus gets their Wolves involved. Now tell me, what does Kate do, without fail, after every _Hunter’s Moon_ tournament, before the _Blood Moon_ tournament?” Peter waited, looking at Derek pointedly.

Derek did not need prompting. “She invites all her friends here, and shows us all off on the Ludus sands. All her Gladiators.”

“Exactly.”

Derek frowned, “You aren’t suggesting we escape then, are you? That would be in front of a crowd! I thought we would try and do it at the quietest time possible, to avoid notice. And to avoid bloodshed.”

He knew his uncle had a flare for dramatics, but he had not thought that Peter would consider such a public escape.

“Avoid bloodshed? I call bullshit to that,” Peter scoffed, “I hope it will be as bloody as possible, and I know you want the same too, even if your good heart won’t admit it. But no, that is not when I suggest we do it, I’m not a fool. I suggest we do it after the after-party, when all the guests and guards have gotten themselves all in a drunken stupor. It’s why they always let us drink and have our big meal after the _Hunter’s Moon_ and don’t have us up at the house during the party; it’s so the guards can partake too. They will all have their guards down, literally, and will be slower with the alcohol. All we would need is for Allison Argent to get the keys from under Kate’s bed, and get them to us so we can take off the collars. She can get them whilst all the guests are out admiring us on the sands during the day and not paying attention. It will mean relying on an Argent, I know, but she told us about the fire and Laura, and you trust her, and it sounds like she cares about Scott and Stiles. She is our best hope. We would have Kira as a backup plan, but ultimately we need the Argent girl’s participation, as it’s her pendant we need to open the safe. It isn’t ideal, to rely on a human but…”

“We would also need to get to the house slaves?” Derek pressed urgently.

Peter rolled his eyes. “Don’t fret so, Derek. We won’t be leaving without Stiles. Please, what do you take me for?” Peter smirked. “The boy is smarter than the vast majority of people. I need him for intelligent conversation. I have included entry into the house in the escape plan, so we can get Stiles and Kira, and the others if they want to come. Kate’s friends often bring their own house slaves, I know Victoria will likely bring Scott’s mother along, and we can get them out too if they wish. It will require at least one of us to get into the house, of course, to kill Kate and as many people as possible whilst the slaves make a run for it.”

Derek wrung his hands unhappily. “That would be a suicide mission.”

“I will take it,” Peter said firmly. “And it won’t be suicidal. I have every intention of butchering the lot of them and making it out of there without a scratch. I know a couple of Weres in here that would happily join me.”

Derek did not want to lose Peter. He hoped that he would be able to talk him out of that part of his plan, or at least find a way that Peter would make it out alive to escape with him. But then, Peter was promising to kill Kate, and that was something that Derek did want, his ‘good heart’ be damned.

As Peter explained in further depth the logistics; using Derek’s immunity to the collar as a weapon, how they would get in touch with Allison to get the keys, Derek carefully thought over Peter’s proposed plan, considered the pros and cons of the idea. It was by far the best idea that they had come up with.

After Peter had finished, Derek sat in contemplative silence.

Peter watched him, grinning triumphantly, until Derek nodded and agreed, “I think that could work.”

“I know it will. I will make sure of it.” Peter walked forwards and clapped Derek on the shoulder. “I told you,” he said smugly. “Pack guru. It’s clearly my calling.”

“Who knew you would grow to be so good at giving non-malicious advice,” Derek deadpanned.

“Yes, it pains me greatly,” Peter dismissed, waving his hand. “Speaking of advice, have you told Stiles about John yet?”

When Derek had first revealed to Peter that Stiles’ father had been their family friend John, Peter had been genuinely surprised. Peter had known John Stilinski, and had known he was a double agent for the family within the authorities, but had not made the connection to Stiles, because John had always called him Mieczyslaw, and not by his nickname. Peter had been unaware of Stiles’ surname. Besides, Peter had told Derek, he had not even known that John was dead, and had honestly not thought about John much at all since the fire. Derek was ashamed to say that he had not given him that much thought either, until he and Stiles had spoken about him.

Derek rubbed the back of his neck. “Scott and I agreed to wait until he is on his feet, at least, when he is a bit stronger to be able to take it.”

“Deaton said he was going to try and get him up this afternoon.”

“I know,” Derek sighed.

“You have to tell him, Derek. No matter how much it may hurt him. I know only too well what can come of keeping secrets.”

Derek looked at his uncle, and found him watching him back.

“I know, Peter,” Derek said, “I know. It’s just figuring out how to say it.”

“Just do it soon,” Peter said. “We need everyone’s minds on getting out of here after the _Hunter’s Moon_. Not on distractions.”

“Like Kate being responsible for everything that has happened to us?” Derek asked quietly.

“Yes,” Peter said, already turning to leave, no longer meeting Derek’s eye. “Yes, to keep our minds off things like that.”

***

Stiles had decided he was never going to get whipped again. Not just because it hurt rather a gods damn lot, but also because the recovery process was so damned boring. He had been bedridden for just over a week, unable to lie on his back. The guards were being more vigilant than ever, which meant he had had barely any visitors. Derek and Scott came whenever they could. He had Deaton at least, and the doctor had taken the opportunity to have Stiles with him days on end to start finally teaching him a little more about magic and druids.

In fact, Deaton said that Stiles had reacted so well to the concoctions that Deaton had treated the lacerations on his back with to speed the healing process, that Deaton suspected him to have something called a ‘spark’, whatever that was. But it had encouraged Deaton to start teaching him about magic with enthusiasm.

Stiles was lying on his side, waiting impatiently for Deaton to come and observe and assist Stiles into being able to move around properly. He was ready to get up properly. He had stood and sat up several times during the week, but Deaton did not want him to put too much pressure on so many healing wounds. Now that Deaton’s salves had started to truly do their job, Stiles was looking forward to getting back to normal again, even if normal was working as a house slave for a vicious mistress.

Stiles grumbled into the cushion pressed into his cheek, and tried to be patient.

Finally Deaton came into the room. “Ready to give this a go?”

“I have been ready for _days_ ,” Stiles insisted.

“Ok, let’s sit you up,” Deaton said, helping Stiles to do just that, legs planted on the floor. “And all the way,” Deaton said, pulling Stiles to his feet. “Ok?”

Stiles nodded, closing his eyes against the sudden vertigo. “I’m ok.” His back felt sore and stiff, but he felt like he could keep upright, and that he wasn’t going to tear any of the healing wounds back open. He knew his back was badly bruised as well, which was more painful a lot of the time than the gouges themselves.

“Good,” Deaton praised, “You are doing great.”

A knock at the door had them both turning. Deaton called his permission, and Scott and Derek entered the room.

“Scott!” Stiles beamed, “Derek! Hey! Look!” he let go of Deaton and spread his arms out to show them that he was upright.

Scott smiled back at him, “That is wonderful, Stiles.”

“Thank gods I am out of that bed,” Stiles said. He wobbled, and Derek stepped forward to catch him before Deaton could.

“How are you?” Derek asked him, voice low and softly concerned, “How is your back?”

“Don’t know, can’t see it,” Stiles turned around to let Derek inspect it. He felt fingers carefully trace the beaten skin.

“I will leave you boys to it,” Deaton said, edging towards the door, “Just shout if you need me.”

Once the door had closed behind Deaton, Stiles turned to find both Derek and Scott staring at him.

“It is getting much better,” Stiles told them, “Deaton said I am responding so well to his healing salves that I may only end up with a few scars. And I will be healed up mostly in a few weeks. It looks a mess but it will get better.”

Derek startled, “Stiles,” he said softly, “Sorry, we weren’t staring at you for…”

“It’s not a mess,” Scott interrupted to add, “You could never look a mess, Stiles.”

“Now we both know that is a lie,” Stiles joked, but it fell flat because he was not sure why they were looking at him the way that they were.

“You will always look beautiful Stiles,” Derek told him, smoothing his hand from Stiles’ shoulder, down his arm to his hand. “You have been so brave, and we are all so proud of you.”

Stiles looked to Scott, who nodded his agreement earnestly.

“You are both being incredibly nice to me, and yet looking at me like I am some kind of tragedy.” Stiles narrowed his eyes. “What’s going on?”

Derek and Scott looked at each other, Scott nodded and then they looked back at Stiles. Stiles watched them suspiciously.

“What…”

“Stiles,” Scott said, “I think you need to sit down.”

It sounded like bad news. Stiles did not fare well with bad news. He backed up a pace, even as Derek kept a hold of his hand. “But I have only just stood up.”

“Stiles,” Derek murmured, “Please. We have some things to tell you. Allison has found out some information.”

“Oh,” Stiles said, surprised, before realisation dawned. “Oh!” He allowed Derek and Scott to flank him and help him sit back down on the bed. Once down, he watched Derek closely as Derek moved to crouch in front of him, whilst Scott remained sitting at Stiles’ side. “Your sisters?”

“Yes, she found out about them.”

“And?” Stiles asked urgently, watching Derek’s pained expression.

“We know that Cora is with the master they were first sold to. We know where she is.”

“And Laura?”

“Sent to the mines years ago. We don’t know if she is still alive, let alone where she is.”

“Derek,” Stiles reached out to Derek, and Derek lifted his hand and placed it on Stiles’ knee so that Stiles could hold it. “I am so sorry. When we get out of here, we can get Cora, and we can track Laura down, just like we are going to do for Lydia.”

Derek nodded, smiled weakly. Stiles frowned.

“That isn’t everything, is it?”

“No,” Derek whispered, looking up into Stiles’ eyes and then back down again, focusing on their clasped hands. “Allison found a file in her father’s safe about the fire that killed my family.”

Stiles glanced at Scott, puzzled, “Why would Chris have a file about that?”

“Allison thinks he was protecting Kate by hiding it in his hidden safe,” Derek explained, his voice heavy. “Because all the evidence in the file points to Kate.”

“What do you mean?” Stiles gasped, staring at Derek wide-eyed. “Are you telling me Kate was the one that set fire to your home?”

“Allison says that the evidence in the file is too much to be denied.”

“Oh gods,” Stiles breathed, “What more can she take from us?”

“Maybe something else,” Derek admitted, meeting Stiles’ eyes again, his hazel-green irises betraying hurt and upset. “But not from me.”

“What do you mean?” Stiles asked. “Derek? Scott?”

Derek looked to Scott, and back to Stiles again.

“Stiles,” Scott said to him, careful and soft. “The file was the one compiled by your father.”

Stiles’ heart froze instantly in his chest. “What?”

“Chris had the file your father compiled about the fire,” Derek confirmed, watching Stiles worriedly, “Which essentially accused Kate for it. He must have gotten the file after your father died. Because Allison found something else in that safe too.” Derek lifted his free hand, and pressed something into Stiles’ palm.

Stiles looked down, uncurled his fingers, and choked on a sob at the sight of the Triskelion in his hand. Derek’s gift, which Stiles had lost the day that his father had died and Chris Argent had taken him before he could be swept off to the poorhouse.

“Stiles,” Scott said, placing his own hand on Stiles’ wrist. “We think Kate might have known your father was on to her.”

“What…what are you implying?” Stiles asked, frantic and afraid, “You can’t be implying that she was behind my father’s death too? She can’t be. They told me it was a combination of the grief and the sudden increase in alcohol intake. It was all too much and his heart gave in. That…that is what they told me.”

“Who did?” Derek asked softly, “Who told you that your father died because his heart failed?”

Stiles frowned. He hadn’t spoken to any doctors after they determined the cause of death. Chris Argent had taken him off well before that.

And then, then he faced a tired, resigned realisation. “Chris Argent did,” he said.

All of a sudden, Stiles found it very hard to breath. His chest heaved as he panicked, thinking of how he had cursed his father for leaving him, for not being strong enough to stay, when he had actually been murdered. Thinking of how Chris Argent had lied to him for years. He couldn’t draw in enough air and was left heaving.

“Ah…” He forced out, turning panicked eyes on Derek.

Derek was petting him with concern. “Stiles? Stiles!”

“He is having an attack,” he heard Scott say, probably recognising the signs from the shortness of breath he had used to experience. “Stiles,” Scott said, and Stiles distractedly saw Scott take his hands, felt fingers encircle his own. “Breath with me, just like you always used to say to me, remember? Just remember what you always said to me, in and out, like me, in and out.”

Derek reached forwards and pressed a very light hand to Stiles’ chest, “Breathe, Stiles,” Derek urged. “Listen to Scott.”

And Stiles did. He focused on the way Scott’s and Derek’s chests rose and fell, breathed out, felt Derek’s palm supporting him, breathed back in again. It took a little while, but finally he thought he had it under control. He felt exhausted.

“You ok?” Derek asked after a quiet moment of Stiles wheezing breath in and out of lungs pressed down by a shattered heart.

Stiles nodded, pulling Derek forward, squeezing Scott’s hand that was still in his. He rested his forehead against Derek’s, closed his eyes, and breathed a little more. Scott did not let go of his hand, probably because Stiles was grabbing him so tightly.

Stiles could not believe how much Kate had taken from him. Having had Scott attacked, and taking them away from their home at Chris Argent’s had been bad enough, but to now know that she had been the cause of Stiles becoming a slave in the first place…and that Chris Argent had covered it all up, lied to him, when Stiles had always respected him for being a saving grace that had rescued Stiles from poverty after the death of his father.

Everything had turned upside down in a matter of seconds, just like it had on that fateful night when Scott had been bitten at the full moon. Everything had changed.

And whilst a reasonable voice in his head reminded him that Chris _had_ still taken him in, and that without Stiles being there, Scott may have well been bitten and sent off to the _Lupus Ludus_ regardless, and that without that, Stiles would not have met Derek and the rest of their pack and house slaves, at that moment the bitter part of him that had missed out on a different lifetime beside his father was winning.

“You think they did it?” Stiles asked Derek, voice hoarse, “Killed my father and covered it up?”

“I think _she_ did,” Derek said. “She is capable of anything.”

Stiles sniffed tiredly, “Your family, Derek, I’m sorry…”

“I always knew it was more than just an accident, and now I know for sure. I just don’t know how she even knew about us in the first place.”

“You can’t confront her about this,” Scott advised suddenly, “Either of you. Or Peter. If she knows we know those things, she will suspect us more, or sell us off, and we will never get out of here.”

“Get out of here?” Stiles repeated, ignoring the tears that had started to well and drip down his face. “You have a plan?”

Derek leant forwards and caught some of the tears with his thumb as they rolled down Stiles’ cheeks. He looked devastated.

“Peter has one,” Derek told him quietly, “To get all of us out after the _Hunter’s Moon_.”

“I never thought I would say this,” Scott said, “But I have total faith in Peter. It is a genius plan, Stiles. Peter is working now to make sure that there will be as few issues as possible, and he is already working on getting all the Gladiators we have been speaking to about rebellion on board.”

“The _Hunter’s Moon_? That’s only a few weeks away,” Stiles said, rubbing his eyes with his fist, breath hitching as he spoke.

“Yes,” Derek said, “Which is why we need you to be as healed as possible before we do.”

“Stiles,” Scott cupped Stiles’ hand and held it up to his chest. Stiles looked into the big, brown eyes of his best friend, whose eyes were welling in response to seeing his friend upset. “I’m sorry about your father.”

Stiles gave him a wobbly smile, “At least it’s a comfort to know that he didn’t do this to himself. That he did want to stay with me. It was her that took him.”

“Of course he did,” Scott promised, “I never got to meet him, but I know he loved you. Who couldn’t love you?”

Stiles let out a watery laugh, “Actually, there’s quite a list. I am a required taste.”

Scott laughed, and wrapped him up in a careful hug. “Yes, well, we think you are alright,” Scott said into his ear, “Don’t we Derek?”

Stiles glanced at Derek, who was nodding.

“We can’t live without you,” Derek told him sincerely. Derek normally was quite sarcastically witted about such things with Stiles, but he clearly thought that Stiles needed to hear it. “Which is why you need to keep healing. Ok?”

“Ok, Derek,” Stiles said, reaching for him. “You’ll both stay for a bit, won’t you?” Stiles asked.

Derek ended up arranging them so that Stiles was carefully sat up against the pillows, with Derek’s arm resting carefully atop his shoulders, and Scott curled into the other side of him.

“We are not going anywhere,” Derek promised, and pressed a kiss into Stiles’ hair.

***

Kate was not sure quite when she had lost so much control. But she knew why. She had gotten lax in her confidence that her slaves would never do anything to betray her, that they were too scared to ever put a foot wrong.

And now, she had found out that Lydia had been sneaking into the Ludus to see Jackson, that Stiles had been helping her, that Lydia was a Banshee, and that the house slaves had all been helping her, had had Peter announce that he was the rogue Were, paid and blackmailed by her to do her bidding.

Her father could barely look at her. He was spending more time away from the Ludus, visiting friends, because he said that he needed time to get over the disappointment of what she had let his Ludus turn into. She did not care. She cared about her father still thinking the Ludus was his, but she did not care what he thought. She did not care what he said. She knew she could fix this, and she would fix it herself.

And as much she hated to admit it, what had truly angered her more than anything else, of all the disobediences of her slaves and her father’s disappointments, was that she knew that Derek was fucking somebody that wasn’t her.

When she used to fuck him, he had been angry, pent-up hate, but he would fuck her back because he could not fight her. When he had been younger, she believed he had even enjoyed it. As he got older and hated her more and more, it became about controlling him, having him, having an upper hand. But in the past few months, he almost had stopped responding altogether, and looked like he was forcing himself into it, or looking like he was far away, imagining being somewhere else, with someone else, more and more. She had known then, known that Derek was not hers alone, and it infuriated her. Derek was her property, her possession, hers to use and take and hate. But Derek’s emotions were directed elsewhere, and she could not have that.

When she had seen Lydia one night, in the middle of the night, fighting against Stiles in an attempt to see Derek, she had immediately come to the conclusion that it was Lydia. That Lydia had been sneaking into the Ludus to meet him. But Kate knew how to deal with that. She had suspected something had been wrong with Lydia since the rogue attack, and it was merely a matter of waiting for the perfect moment to strike. She had done just that, but when she had announced Lydia’s being a Banshee to her entire Ludus, and accused her of sleeping with a Gladiator, it was not Derek that came forward to beg for Lydia as Kate had suspected. It was Jackson.

That had enraged her even more. Because not only was whoever Derek seeing secretly still living in her Ludus, but that it had not been the only secret relationship happening amongst her slaves. And that just could not be allowed to happen. Lydia was gone and Jackson in solitary confinement, the guards were being extra vigilant for any kind of close contact between Gladiators and house slaves, yet she was no closer to figuring out the identity of Derek’s secret lover and getting rid of them.

She had taken a step back after sending Lydia away and punishing Stiles for his disobedience. She had taken a few days to think, to solve the problems that had presented themselves. She wanted Derek to pay for even thinking that he could be anyone else’s but hers, and she wanted whoever it was to have so dared, to pay just as much. Fortunately, she had finally come to a decision, assisted by the fact that the _Hunter’s Moon_ and _Blood Moon_ tournaments were fast approaching.

If she got her way, it would all be over before the _Hunter’s Moon_ tournament, and so she waited until she could speak to some of her close contacts, and decided to set things in motion.

Four days before the _Hunter’s Moon_ tournament, her father was out meeting local politicians, and Kate called for Derek to come her rooms.

“It has been a few weeks now, Derek, has it not?” Kate said, walking towards her champion.

Derek shifted his foot, only a fraction, but it was enough to let her know that he was unsettled.

“Yes, Domina,” he said. He sounded distanced, his eyes fixed at a point over Kate’s shoulder.

It made Kate want to drag him into the present, break him apart, make him remember that there was nothing else in his life but her, and serving her, and fighting for her. He had lived as her property. He would die as her property.

She stalked forwards, and once she reached him, dragged a hand from his neck down to the top of his pants, staring at his face, hungry for any kind of reaction. Derek had mastered a poker face in these situations over the years, but just recently, since fucking another of her slaves, she had noticed how he would flinch sometimes, grit his teeth, avert his eyes where he had once stared her down, his jaw and shoulders might tense, or his eye might twitch. He did not move.

She smirked. “Get on the bed, Derek.”

Derek hesitated. Kate felt the anger boil up again.

“Get on the bed, Derek.”

Derek glanced at her before moving to comply. When he took too long to lie, she did it for him, tying his arms to the bed posts, and then his ankles, and then a loose tie around his neck, forcing him down. The ties on the bed were made with Mountain Ash, which allowed him to transform, but not break out of them, when she took his collar off.

“Domina…” Derek started apprehensively.

“Yes?” Kate asked, challenging him to question her actions, “Derek?”

Derek’s jaw snapped shut.

“I should think so.”

Kate pulled a dagger from the sheath on her leg, hidden under her skirts, and Derek flinched.

“Calm yourself, Derek,” she soothed smugly, patting his stomach, “I will be letting you heal from these.” She unlocked Derek’s collar, and then sat back, starting to cut the leather straps over Derek’s torso, baring his chest and stomach to the room piece by piece. She left his pants on him, for the time being.

She ducked her head and ran her tongue up his taught abdomen, and looked up to see Derek staring at the canopy above the bed, his jaw tight. She nipped flesh with her teeth and he hissed.

Kate bit him again, harder, and then swung her leg over him, straddling him. She took her dagger and carved a shallow line down his chest.

Derek growled in pain, his fangs appearing in instinct, now that the collar was not stopping his access to his powers, his ability to shift. It would only take a few minutes for the cut to begin to heal itself. She hated that she envied power like that. She cut him again and spread a hand through the blood. Even though his head was tied down, she was careful to avoid his mouth, in case he became tempted to bite.

He wasn’t looking at her, and he was grunting in pain, but not glaring at her like he used to. He was staring past her, like he could not see her. She traced some more bloody patterns into his skin, and then slid off him, pressing her moth to the skin behind his ear.

“Do you love me, Derek?” She asked, sliding her hand over his chest, over his nipple. She knew what his answer would be.

“No,” he said immediately.

“Do you hate me, Derek?” She asked, pressing her hand into the cuts on his stomach that were already attempting to heal.

“Yes.” Derek did not look at her, continued to stare at the canopy above.

“Do you want me, Derek?”

“No,” Derek said.

He had never been so quick to admit it before. He would always attempt to humour her, avoid her challenging him further. He would pause, at least, considering what he should answer, before he said ‘no’. But not this time.

“Is that because you want someone else?” She whispered in his ear.

If she had not been looking for it, she would not have seen the ever-so-slight tension of Derek’s shoulders the moment that she said it. But she did see it, because she knew him too well.

“Domina?” Derek asked. He was feigning confusion. She knew he was lying.

There was a knock on her door. Normally, she would shout at whoever it was to leave, but not that day. She had something planned.

“Enter,” she called.

Derek looked at her, then. He turned his head to stare at her in bewilderment. “Domina!” he protested.

It was the first time she had ever invited anybody into her rooms whilst with Derek, and it had caught him off guard.

Two of her Ludus guards walked in, with Peter Hale in tow. The guards barely spared a glance at Derek, but Peter did. Peter stared.

“Derek,” Peter said, purposefully nonchalant, obnoxious, “You look like you are having fun.”

Derek snarled.

Kate smiled.

The guards pushed Peter to the wall, chaining him up by the collar and the wrists, and then leaving the room again.

“Peter, thank you for joining us.”

“Well, I did not have a choice, did I, Domina?” Peter asked with venom. She had not seen him since she had had his room ransacked and all his earnings taken from him. She could see the pure hatred in his eyes and it amused her. “And neither, it appears, does my Nephew. I cannot forgive you for that.”

“I do not need your forgiveness, Peter,” Kate snapped.

“That is probably a good thing, because I do not forgive you for stealing from me, either. I don’t forgive you for a _lot_ of things.”

Kate sneered, and watched as Derek lifted his head to meet his uncle’s eyes, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths as the knife wounds on his stomach healed.

“That is why I have brought you here, Peter,” Kate said. “I have decided to give you an opportunity to earn all of that money back.”

Peter froze at that, caught off guard, and Kate felt the sense of satisfaction she always felt at managing to get Peter Hale to look unsettled. His eyes had dropped to Derek.

“If you are going to blackmail me using Derek…” he started to warn.

“You are in no position to make demands of me, Hale,” she snapped at him. “I am your Domina, and you will remember your place, or I will string you up and give you three times the lashing I gave to Stiles. Understand?”

Peter’s jaw clenched. “Yes,” he bit out, “I understand. Domina.” He purposefully added the ‘Domina’ almost as an afterthought, Kate knew it. She did not care, because she knew he was going to find himself in even more of a dilemma soon enough.

“The deal is,” Kate said, “If you comply and tell me what I want to know, I will give you back all of your money, with interest, meaning that in two more fights, you will be able to not only afford your own freedom, but that of your nieces. If you refuse to do so, you will not get the money back, and the _Hunter’s Moon_ will be your last ever fight, because I will put you into early retirement and you will be cleaning practice weapons and teaching new Gladiators for the rest of your miserable life.”

Peter was staring at her with a silent, burning fury. Finally he asked, words dripping with venom, “How do I even know my nieces are still alive when you have given us nothing to believe that they are?”

“I can get you evidence, when you tell me…”

“I don’t think you can supply evidence,” Peter cut in, his eyes narrowed, “Because you don’t know where they are anymore.”

“If you are trying to trick me into something, Hale, you are going to fail,” she told him, angry at his questioning. “You will answer my question, or never earn another coin towards your freedom.”

Peter looked at Derek, and Kate watched suspiciously as they seemed to communicate with each other without words.

“Give me the question,” Peter said finally.

“Tell me who Derek is fucking.”

Peter remained expertly expressionless. “Excuse me?” he asked.

“Domina, I am not…” Derek started.

Kate threw the knife towards the bed, and it stuck into the mattress, inches from Derek’s side.

“Tell me who he is fucking, and you get back all of your money.”

Peter’s eyes shot from the knife back up to Kate. “I don’t know,” Peter said. “I didn’t know he was supposed to be fucking anybody. Apart from when you make him fuck you or your lecherous friends.”

Kate ignored Peter’s attempt to anger her. “I don’t believe you.”

“Even if he is, why do you even care, _Domina_?” Peter asked, curling his lip. “It isn’t like you care about his attention, is it? It isn’t like you love him.” He paused. “Unless you do?”

“Peter…” Derek warned, but Kate had already yanked the knife out of the mattress and shoved it into Derek’s side. Derek coughed in shock, blood spilling out of his mouth and running down the sides of his face.

“Take it out of him,” Peter snapped.

“Not until you tell me who he is fucking.”

“He isn’t ‘fucking’ anybody,” Peter insisted, tone ice cold with the protective anger of an uncle and an alpha.

“Are you going to tell me, Derek?” Kate asked silkily, looking down at Derek.

Derek stared back at her with wide eyes, blood bubbling around his lips, and shook his head.  “I’m not,” he choked out. “No-one.”

She glared at him, waited for Derek or Peter to admit, give her a name. But the Hales had always been stubborn creatures.

She yanked the dagger out of Derek, and stalked towards Peter. She wiped the blood on the blade off on Peter’s bare shoulder as he snarled at her. She had never known a Were act so much like its animal when without access to its powers.

“I don’t believe you,” she said. “Consider your fight in the _Hunter’s Moon_ your last. I am putting you into retirement. You gave up your chance at freedom.”

Peter gnashed his teeth at her, spat at her feet. She ignored him and moved back to Derek, who was groaning as the stab wound began to heal.

“You disappoint me, Derek,” she told him.

She planned to make him pay for that disappointment. For lying to her. For fucking one of her slaves behind her back.

The _Hunter’s Moon_ tournament arrived, and Kate punished Derek by making sure he was up against one of Jonah’s _Alpha Pack._ He ended up fighting Kali _The Claws_ , and Kate knew that Derek would not come out of the fight untouched.

The Alpha woman delivered as Kate hoped she would; running Derek through with a metal pole that took Derek down to the sands, spilling blood from his mouth just as he had when Kate had stabbed him. Kate watched Derek struggle with satisfaction and a little sadness too, because he really was her champion, her favourite Gladiator. It was truly a shame that Derek had so badly betrayed her, lied to her. She wanted him to suffer. She also needed him to win, because she was not finished with him yet.

As she had known he would, Derek managed to wrench himself free from the metal pole, pulling it out of his middle with both hands. He had beaten Kali to the floor, but only just, and did not kill her, turning to the VIP guests for their verdicts. Kate had led the thumbs-up to allow Kali to live, knowing that Jonah would now owe her a favour for keeping one of his Alphas alive for him.

The rest of the tournament went a little less to Kate’s plan. She had remained adamant that Peter’s fight would be his last. It was maybe why Peter put on such a gruesome farewell.

He ripped his opponent to shreds, covered in scarlet, drew an expletive on the sands with his opponent’s blood, and then turned to stare unnervingly at the VIP balcony, bowing low for them all.

“If only I could repay you,” he shouted threateningly into the hushed quiet of the audience that followed, “Repay all of you in blood and sand, for watching me fight for my life for so many years.”

Where Peter was gruesomely defiant, Jackson had been something else.

Kate had decided to let Jackson loose on the sands. Either he would give up without his Banshee lover, or he would let out his anger and win a spectacular fight. He had won within seconds, taking down his opponent with his spear, but as the crowd shouted their support for _The Kanima,_ Jackson had turned on his heel and launched the spear towards the VIP balcony. It had hit just below the viewing platform. The Lords and Ladies shrieked around her, because they all knew that if Jackson had wanted to hit them, he definitely could have done. He had wanted to scare, to threaten. He bowed as Peter liked to do, and stalked off the sands amidst cheers from the commoners who had enjoyed seeing the nobility receive a shock.

After the tournament, her father had come up behind her, clenched his fingers around her shoulder and hissed in her ear “Get them back under control, or I will.”

“Don’t worry father,” Kate told him coldly. She hated her Gladiators for turning against her. They were supposed to fear her, not defy her. “I will.”

***

Stiles had been ordered back to work the day before the _Hunter’s Moon_ tournament. All the house slaves were working day and night to prepare the house for the number of social events that would be held in the house between the _Hunter’s Moon_ and _Blood Moon_ tournaments.

He had recovered enough to work again, or so the Domina believed. His back was still bruised, the whip marks healed quicker thanks to Deaton’s ointments, but they were still healing, still a little scabbed. But with Lydia gone, the house was a slave short, and Stiles was not going to be allowed to slack.

Kate had taken Danny with her to serve her at the _Hunter’s Moon,_ presumably to make him watch Jackson’s fight for whichever sick reasoning that she had behind doing that. It meant that Stiles had fretted all day, and only heard from Danny afterwards about Peter and Jackson acting defiantly, Erica sustaining rather severe wounds that would take several days to heal, and Derek being run through by one of the _Alpha Pack._ He had wanted to see them all, to make sure that they were all healing, but he was not allowed into the Ludus until Kate saw fit to let him return to serving food at mealtimes.

She was planning to make their lives miserable. But what Kate did not know was that they would not be her slaves for that much longer.

In a matter of days, the Gladiators and the house slaves were going to rebel.

It was all planned, with everyone agreeing to join the fight. Everyone knew the plan of the aftermath of the party organised in three days’ time, everyone had a role to play, the messages filtered to the house slaves through Matt, who was still in charge of meal times in the Gladiators’ hall. Even Allison had been messaged by Deaton, to make sure that she knew her part too, which she had accepted.

Stiles hoped they would be successful. They had to escape now. It was the one chance they would ever have of getting out, and the alternative was too terrible to imagine.

He could not feel more confident about the plan, and was determined that they would succeed, because the Ludus slaves had pulled together like never before; Weres and humans, and they were so hungry for freedom, that they would fight to the death to get it.

They just had three days left to go, and they could very well be free.

They just had to get through three days.

But that night, Kate called him to one of the grand lounges. He had been busy with Kira in the kitchens, but dropped the bowls he was washing with a huff.

“What can she possibly want now?” he snapped irritably. Gerard was away for the night, so Stiles could only imagine what Kate had planned for his absence.

Kira watched him cautiously, “Hold your temper,” she advised, “Three days, remember?”

“It can’t come soon enough,” he grumbled.

He walked to the lounge, knocking twice on the door.

“Enter.”

Stiles entered the room, and immediately took a step back when he looked up to find Scott, Isaac and Derek lined up beside the plush couches, guards lining the room with poisoned arrows trained on them all.

Kate was watching him from one of the couches. “Stiles, you are late.”

“I apologise, Domina,” he said, not taking his eyes from the three men opposite him. “I was in the kitchens.”

“Well I hope you are presentably clean,” Kate said.

Derek, Scott and Isaac looked as confused as he did and Stiles dragged his gaze away from them when he saw Derek give a minute shake of his head.

“Yes, Domina, I am?” he replied.

“Good.” Kate stood. “I need you to serve drinks. Pour them out.” She pointed to a decanter of wine and two goblets.

Stiles did not want to think about who the second goblet was for.

He had just offered one of the goblets to Kate on his serving tray when one of the guards entered to tell Kate that her guest had arrived. Kate abandoned her drink.

“Don’t move,” she advised them all, before she left the room to greet her guest.

Stiles turned to stare at the others. They were all standing rigidly, looking tense and wary. Scott shook his head, telling Stiles that he had no idea what was going on. Isaac’s gaze was fixed firmly on the floor. Derek met Stiles’ eyes, and Stiles could not help but run his eyes over the skin revealed by Derek’s scant Gladiator’s garb, to check that he had healed from his wound from the _Hunter’s Moon._  When he looked back up at Derek, Derek seemed to understand his concern, and sent him the tiniest of reassuring smiles.

That smile dropped from Derek’s face when the door to the room reopened again. Stiles took in Scott and Isaac’s confused expressions, Derek’s thunderous one, and turned around slowly.

Kate was showing Lord Ithan to a seat.

“Stiles,” Kate ordered, “A drink for Lord Ithan.”

Stiles’ legs felt ready to give way underneath him, but he remained stubborn, not wanting Kate to feel like she had frightened him, and swept the tray forwards for Ithan, who took the goblet with a lingering look at Stiles.

Stiles swallowed, and took a step back, stood to attention, not daring to look back at the three Gladiators across the room.

But then Kate and Ithan started making idle conversation and Stiles and the others were left standing, waiting for something terrible to happen, dreading the moment it came.

When their conversation turned to the numerous social gatherings that were going to be taking place in the days leading to the _Blood Moon_ tournament, Stiles knew that they were working towards whatever threat Kate was intending to make.

“You are still planning to have a more…intimate…party soon, are you not, Katherine, dear?”

“My father will be leaving two days following the showing on the sands,” Kate said. “And then we resume to normal. The day he leaves, I will host that night.”

Ithan smiled, “That is most excellent news. I have sincerely missed your parties in the past months, I am glad to hear things will be returning to normal. Your parties are the best in the country.”

“You flatter me, Ithan. It has been your suggestions at the last two parties that have made them quite memorable and widely envied. The attempts of others to gain favour and invitation since have become all too apparent.”

“You are too kind, my Lady.”

Kate wagged her finger, “I am about to be kinder. To thank you for your assistance in the matter, I wish to reward you. Come with me.”

They both stood, and Stiles tensed as they walked past him towards the Gladiators.

“You can choose who you wish to bed at the party, free of charge.”

“My lady,” Ithan smiled, “That is most generous." His smile turned teasing. "If I do pay, however, do I get more than one at once?”

Kate’s expression hardened for the fraction of a second. “We shall see,” she said with a false smile. “You expressed interest in my champion, but also in Scott and Isaac, the last time we spoke on the topic.”

“Yes,” Ithan said, inspecting the men in front of him. “You are right, I think, Katherine. I do tend to favour the slighter boys.” He glanced at her. “May I touch?”

“You may.”

Ithan dragged a hand almost absently down Derek’s chest, as if merely wishing to feel, and Stiles felt the fury bubble away in his veins, reaching boiling point when Ithan moved to Scott, taking a hold of his chin, inspecting Scott’s face and his uneven jaw.

Scott had never been touched by Kate or one of Kate’s friends. Stiles took a jerking step forwards when Scott’s large dark eyes shot up to find his, panicking. Kate looked back at Stiles and smirked, and Stiles froze. She was challenging him to intervene.

Ithan hummed thoughtfully over Scott, looking him up and down, before moving on and doing the same to Isaac. Isaac kept his eyes lowered, his jaw set.

“They are beautiful specimens, to be sure,” Ithan murmured to Kate. Stiles shivered. “But I wonder…” Ithan began.

“Yes, Ithan?”

“May I look at Stiles as well?”

Stiles should have known that it would be coming, but he still froze, knowing that all the eyes in the room had swivelled to him.

“Oh of course,” Kate said. “Come forward Stiles. You must forgive the state of his back, Ithan, he required severe punishment several weeks ago.”

Stiles did not move.

“Stiles,” Kate snapped.

“Oh, do not fret, Katherine, the boy is shy of me, I know that by now.”

Ithan sauntered towards where Stiles stood frozen, walking around behind him, and Stiles tensed when he felt fingers trace over the marks on his back.

“A pity he had to be marred so,” Ithan commented.

“He deserved it,” Kate said, with finality.

“It does not take from him, however,” Ithan said, rounding Stiles and smiling at him, running fingers over his face, down his neck. “He truly is my favourite. But it is your Gladiators you are offering at your party and so I must choose another…”

“I think it could be arranged. If Stiles thinks he can entertain you more than Scott or Isaac.”

She was testing him. She knew he would sacrifice himself for them. She was trapping him.

“Stiles, don’t…” Scott choked out, before being slapped about the head by Kate.

“Bite your tongue,” she snarled at him.

Stiles knew that if the Wolves succeeded in the rebellion, they would be out of the Ludus by the time the party was planned to take place. But there was the chance that they might fail. There was also the matter of pride.

But Stiles also knew that he could not even allow that man to think he could have Scott or Isaac. He could not let Kate wonder why Stiles would not sacrifice himself. He glanced at Derek and Scott, and saw the devastation in their faces, because they knew what he was going to do.

“I can keep you entertained, my lord,” Stiles said, forcing himself to smile.

Ithan smiled, big and wide, “Oh,” he said, “I bet you can.” Ithan’s thumb traced the corner of Stiles’ mouth, pushed back his top lip to touch teeth, and then let him go, turning to Kate. “Is that acceptable to you, my lady?”

Kate was watching Stiles with a sickening smugness. “Yes, my lord, that is more than acceptable.”

Ithan left shortly afterwards, with the promise of having Stiles to himself for a night.

The room existed in a state of tense, furious silence, until Kate came back from seeing Ithan out.

“Well,” she said, “That was easy to organise, was it not?” She smiled at Stiles, “Thank you for volunteering, Stiles.” She walked back towards the Gladiators, resting her palm flat over Derek’s pectoral. “It will also free up Scott and Isaac for other lords and ladies.”

Just the comment, the insinuation that she would allow Scott and Isaac to be raped anyway, after only barely avoiding Lord Ithan, changed something in Stiles. Something finally snapped. Before he had feared and tiptoed around her and hated her quietly. But right at that moment he could not help but loath her openly. Something snapped and all the hate he felt came pouring out of his very pores.

And out of his mouth.

He looked at her, glaring at her, watching her like a man possessed, an enraged sneer on his face.

“You _bitch,_ ” he said. With all the venom he had within him.

Everything dropped to a deadly silence. He did not look at Derek, Scott and Isaac. He was too angry, too focused on the monster before him, and how much he hated her.

Kate turned to him slowly, her eyes wide, her expression a terrifying mix between manic and deadly calm. Stiles met it head-on.

“What did you say?” she asked, light and daring.

Stiles curled his lip, snarled. “You heard me…”

“Stiles,” Derek’s barking command jolted him, but did not deter him.

Kate was stalking towards him.

“Because you are organising rape, you see that right? You are planning the rape of…”

The crack around the face was not unexpected, but it hurt, because Kate was wearing rings.

Stiles staggered, tasting blood on his tongue with a sick satisfaction, and bared his blood-stained teeth.

Her hand rose to strike him again, but before it could meet his face, it was stopped.

Derek had wrapped a hand around her wrist.

There were still guards in the room, but Derek had moved so fast that none of them had registered that he had moved; his powers at work, not that any of them but Stiles, Scott and Isaac knew.

“Leave him,” Derek advised, stern and angry. “You have damaged him enough. He was bound to snap.”

But Kate did not look angry. She looked stunned. Then rage came and passed. And then, then she looked like she understood something.

“All this time,” Kate said, voice quiet, “I had thought it was a woman you had been fucking.”

Stiles saw the instant Derek began to panic, and so did Kate. She knew she had caught him. Caught both of them.

“But you haven’t, have you?” She wrenched free of him. “You have been fucking this.” She jabbed a finger towards Stiles. “Haven’t you, Derek?”

“No, Domina, I…”

“Do not lie to me,” she spat. She fixed her glare on Stiles, hateful, “I should have known it would be you. You have been nothing but a burden, a snake in my house.” Her eyes glittered. “But not for much longer. I think I can better my deal with Ithan.” She turned to the guards. “Keep them all where they are. Shoot them if they move. Shoot them dead.” And she began dragging Stiles towards the door.

Derek snatched out to take Stiles’ hand, but a well-aimed arrow knocked his hand aside.

“Derek,” Stiles shouted, panic rising. He knew what Kate was implying. She was threatening to sell him off to Lord Ithan. “Derek!”

“Stiles!” Derek went to move forward, and was narrowly missed by another arrow.

Suddenly afraid that Derek would get shot and then heal quickly enough to reveal that his collar no longer worked on him, Stiles frantically shook his head, even as he pulled against Kate’s iron grip and his feet struggled to dig into the floor to prevent being dragged towards the door.

“Derek, don’t!” he shouted.

He heard Scott shouting for him as Kate flung him around and shoved him out of the door. She dragged him struggling down the corridor, out into the hall and then down another. She opened one of the rooms one handed and threw him inside it. He realised that it had been the room Gerard had locked him in the night before Lydia was sent away a moment before she shut the door and the room was plunged into darkness.

***

Stiles did not know how long he was left alone in the dark. It was longer than a day, definitely, maybe two or three. He knew he was hungry and he was thirsty, and his stomach hurt from that almost as much as it hurt from the constant stress of not knowing what was coming.

Was Kate organising his sale to Lord Ithan? Was she planning to flog him again, or send him off to the mines? Was she punishing Derek? Torturing him for his betrayal? Was she punishing Scott in revenge?

Stiles chewed at his fingernails, tapped his feet repeatedly on the floor, stood up, sat back down, drummed his fingers, and repeated, over and over again.

He wanted to be out of that room, just as much as he dreaded the door opening.

But eventually, the door did have to open. And when it did, Stiles had to shield his eyes from the sudden dousing in daylight. As he blinked, dazzled, he was gripped at the back of the neck and shoved forwards. His vision adjusted as he was stood upright and his wrists were shackled.

There were two guards, one in front of him and one behind; guards he had rarely interacted with, but did not like. Kate was nowhere in sight.

Once his wrists were bound, he was pulled down the corridor, panic rising.

“I was quite happy where I was,” he told the guards, “But if you insist on pulling me around, do I at least get to know where I’m going?”

They didn’t answer. They also didn’t lead him towards Kate’s rooms, which immediately confused him. But he was not headed towards the front door either. It took him a couple of seconds to realise that they were heading towards the Ludus.

“Is she going to whip me again?” Stiles asked, babbling in his anxiety, “Because I’m ticklish, you know, or is she going to send me to the mines? Because that is a bad idea too, I am so thin and weak that they will take one look at me and decide that they don’t want me.”

Again, the guards did not respond.

When they entered the Ludus, Stiles did a double-take when his gaze immediately landed on the other house slaves, all locked up in one of the Gladiator cells. Kira, Danny and Matt turned to stare at him. The Gladiators themselves were nowhere to be seen.

“What?” Stiles managed, before the guards opened the door and shoved him in.

“Nice of you to join us,” Danny said, dry humoured in the face of a situation way out of the norm, “We weren’t sure whether she had shipped you off to the mines during the night.”

“What’s going on?” He asked in a hushed whisper.

“We have only just been put here,” Matt said, eyes wide, “They haven’t said a word about why.”

“All the guests are here, though,” Kira said, hushed and concerned.

“Guests?” Stiles asked, before realisation hit him. “The guests for the showing? It’s that time already?”

So it _had_ been three days that he had been locked up for. It was already time for the showing of the Gladiators on the sands. Afterwards the guests would party, and after that, the Weres ad house slaves would make their escape. Or that had been the plan, before all the house slaves had been locked up in the Gladiator’s cells.

Kira shifted, “They are all out in the gardens.”

“But if the guests are here,” Matt said, voicing what they were all thinking. “Why are we locked up here and not out there serving them?”

***

Allison knew what she had to do.

It was just a matter of doing it without being caught.

The guests were mingling in the gardens at the front of her Aunt’s villa. Soon they would be entering and heading to the balconies that looked over the training sands for the showing of the Ludus’ Gladiators. Allison would have to linger at the back of the crowd, and during the viewing, she would need to slip away undetected to her Aunt’s rooms, use her Argent pendant to open the safe under her Aunt’s bed and retrieve the keys for the Were’s collars. She would then have to find a way to get those keys to the Weres during the after party. And then? Then she intended to run away with them. She wanted to be with Scott, she did not want to be a part of a family that plotted and murdered and kept slaves and treated them cruelly.

It was going to be a difficult mission; there were around twenty-five guests, and guards besides, but she was determined to be successful and see her work through. She had to. For Scott and for Stiles. And for the Hales, whose fates had entirely been controlled by her Aunt.

She knew what she had to do. All she had to do was not get caught. But that was what her training was for.

Her initial observations confused her, however, because none of the house slaves present, swerving amongst the crowd with trays of drinks were familiar. None of the house slaves were her Aunt’s. She could not see Stiles or Kira or Danny or Matt. She found out that the slaves attending the party were all being loaned by Lord Ithan for the day, but she could not find out why. It worried her, but she knew that she had to focus on the task in hand, or else none of her friends and their fellow slaves, including the house slaves, could be free. She could find out where they were and help them once she had the keys.

She made small talk alongside her parents with various allies and acquaintances, until she could excuse herself and drift away without anybody paying any attention. She passed Melissa on her way to the house, standing obediently at the outskirts of the gardens, waiting for the moment Allison’s mother or father could call on her. Any of the Lords and Ladies in the gardens would think Melissa a dutiful slave waiting for her master’s order, but as Allison got nearer, she saw the watchful, determined look in Melissa’s eyes. It was a welcome change from the constant worry and sadness that had weighed on Melissa since Scott had been bitten and sent away. Allison had told Melissa what the Gladiators and house slaves had planned, and Melissa had immediately decided that she would go wherever Scott and Stiles went, and that she would run with the rest of them.

Melissa watched Allison approach, gaze keen and knowing.

“I am going into the house,” Allison told Melissa when she reached her. “If anybody asks where I am, I have gone to my usual guest room to change.”

Her eyes drifted to once again make sure that her grandfather, aunt and parents were all busy in discussions with various guests.

Melissa nodded, she bit her lip. “Any word at all of Stiles and the other house slaves?” she asked quietly.

“No. But as soon as I get the keys, I can find out.”

Melissa gave her a small, encouraging smile. “Good luck.”

If they had been alone, Allison would have reassured her, held her hand as she did so, but they were amongst nobles and hunting families that would not accept such behaviour. Instead, she nodded with thanks and purpose, and, after one final check, moved up the garden and slipped into the house, informing the guard on the door that she needed to change in her rooms. As the niece of the Domina of the house, and with the amount of time Allison had been spending at the house of late training with her Aunt, the guard did not bat an eyelid and let her through without question.

From there, her task was easy. She did not encounter another guard on the way to her aunt’s rooms, and walked in without any issue. She immediately went to the bed, and dropped to her stomach to crawl underneath. She pulled her necklace off from over her head and found the lever to open the first panel of the safe. She then fit the pendant of her necklace to the lock and twisted it. The safe opened as easily as the one in her father’s study had. She opened it, reached in, and grasped the keys.

“Oh, Allison.”

Allison froze. She clutched the keys more tightly in her hand, and pulled herself lightning-quick out from under the bed. She looked up.

Her Aunt Kate was standing over her, expressionless, emotionless.

“I am _so_ disappointed in you,” was all that she said, before she spun around and moved for the door.

Allison instantly realised what she was going to do and leapt from the floor.

“No, don’t!” she shouted, running forwards, but was met with the wood of the door.

She beat her fists against it, even as she heard her Aunt turn the room key in the lock.

Allison desperately flicked through the small set of keys in her hands, but none of them fit the lock. She aimed some kicks at the lock, but the thick, solid doors were never going to move. She moved to the windows next, but found the shutters all locked and barred.

She was not going to be getting out until she was let out and by that time, the showing would be over and her Aunt would take the keys from her. She needed to do something. She needed to think.

She needed a way out.

Or else none of them would be free.

***

Derek had been afraid from the moment that Stiles had been dragged out of the room by Kate.

Three days ago.

Three days of not knowing what was coming, but knowing that it would be bad. Very bad.

There had been no word of Stiles, but Bennett, still on Derek’s payroll, had informed Derek that Stiles had not been sent away without anyone knowing. Apparently he had been locked in a room and not let out. It was not much to feel thankful for, but at least, for now, Stiles was not tortured; hungry and unhappy, maybe, but not wounded.

But that did not mean it would always remain so. Sooner or later, Stiles would have to come out of the room. Sooner or later, Kate would stop biding her time and make a decision on what his fate would be. And what Derek’s fate would be.

Three days of waiting with the fear of not knowing. Of not knowing what was to come. But knowing it was coming.

Once Kate had returned from taking Stiles away, with Derek and Scott and Isaac held back by arrow and sword-point, Derek had expected Kate to impale him, torture him, string him up and burn him as she had once done in the past. But she did not do anything. She had ordered the three of them to be sent back down to the Ludus and had not taken her eyes off of Derek the entire way out of the room. They had not seen her since.

That did not mean she was not coming for them.

He was afraid for Stiles, because he knew that the punishment that Kate would likely choose would be being sold off to Lord Ithan. He was terrified of losing Stiles, and if their escape attempt that night failed, Stiles was already lost to him. He would never see him again.

It meant that failure was not an option.

They just had to get through the showing on the sands and wait through the after party. Bide their time and take their opportunity to rebel.

Scott had been almost hysterical over Stiles’ fate and it had taken a lot to calm him, to make him focus on their escape. Derek felt the same way, but had attempted to channel that fear into determination to win.

All they had to do was get through a few more hours. Keep biding their time.

They had been gathered in the bath house for several hours, with nothing to do but follow orders to clean themselves ready for the showing, and then wait for the guards to send them out onto the sands.

Peter walked to where Derek sat staring at his clasped hands and joined him on the bench.

“I need you to focus,” Peter told him sternly, quietly, eyeing the guards, “Stiles’ imprisonment has been factored into the escape plan. I will get him out when I enter the house.”

“We have to get Jackson out of solitary confinement as well,” Derek said.

Jackson was back in solitary confinement again after his performance at the last tournament. He was not being shown on the sands that day. Bennett had told Derek that Kate was still considering selling him off.

“That is sorted too. Isaac is on it,” Peter said. “Everyone knows what they have to do. I just need you and Scott to focus and not let your emotions get the better of you.”

“If we fail,” Derek said, “We lose everything. We lose another chance. I lose Stiles. Scott loses Stiles, maybe even Allison and his mother. We won’t let you down.”

Peter clasped his shoulder. “Good. Just be patient. We have a few more hours to endure and then we get our vengeance. Yes?”

Derek nodded, gaze still fixed on his hands.

“Good,” Peter said again, before pushing himself up using Derek’s shoulder and sauntering away.

Eventually the guards received the word to escort the Gladiators to the sands and the _Wolves_ were ordered and ushered up and out; all twenty-four of them. As the Ludus champion, Derek led the way, with Peter at his shoulder and the other Alphas not far behind. It meant that Derek was the first to catch sight of the sands, and the smell of who was on it. He stopped abruptly and several Weres crashed into him from behind.

“Keep moving,” one of the guards ordered, hauling Derek forwards by the straps across his shoulder.

There was a murmur of confusion and surprise behind him as the other Gladiators also saw what Derek was seeing.

Apparently it had not just been the _Wolves_ that had been biding their time. It had taken Kate three days, but apparently, she had now decided to make her move.

The house slaves were gathered on the sands at weapon point, bunched together rather than lined up on display. There were racks of real, sharpened weapons lining the back of the training ground.

Derek spotted Stiles amongst the others immediately, and as the _Wolves_ were ordered onto the sands, he walked straight to the group of house slaves without any objection or warnings.

“Stiles,” he said, the moment he reached them. “Are you ok?”

Stiles looked a little disconcerted and pale, but he winked nonetheless, “A little hungry, a lot confused, but all the better for seeing your smiling face.”

Stiles’ heart was beating quickly in its apprehension. Everyone’s were. They were so loud in Derek’s ears, he had to force himself to zone it out.

“What is going on?” Peter hissed as he and Scott and the others joined them.

Stiles shook his head. Kira was shifting cautiously beside him, watching all surrounding guards warily.

“We don’t know,” Danny replied. “We were all shoved into one of the Ludus cells and then brought out here.” He looked up at the balconies above the sands. “The guests will be here soon.”

“The showing is still happening?” Derek asked. They had never shown house slaves out on the sands before.

“We don’t know,” Kira repeated Danny’s words, emphasising their utter confusion. “The guests are all in the gardens, but we aren’t the ones serving them.”

“Whatever is going on, the plan remains the same,” Derek said.

“Unless she is going to publically ship all the house slaves to the mines, and we won’t be here for you to save later,” Matt noted.

“We won’t let that happen,” Scott said fiercely.

“They will have to go through us, first,” Erica told them firmly.

And then the gates that connected the street outside to the sands opened.

They all stared as a group of people were led out onto the sands. Derek could smell them and see them with more clarity than the others. It meant he felt the utter dread first.

It was the _Alpha Pack_ Weres.

Deucalion, _The Demon Wolf_ ; Kali, _The Claws_ ; Ennis, _The Giant_ ; Aiden and Ethan, _The Alpha Twins_ were escorted onto the sands by unfamiliar guards.

There was a moment of completely stunned silence and building fear, as the _Alpha Pack_ Weres were forced to a halt. They were watching the _Lupus Ludus_ slaves suspiciously, even Deucalion’s blind gaze was aimed in their direction. It did not look like the _Alpha Pack_ was sure what they were there for either.

Peter summarised Derek’s guess as to Kate’s plan when he replied to Erica’s statement; “It appears that might be what is about to happen.”

“And now, we move on to the main event.” The voice from above made Derek flinch, and all eyes turned up to the balcony, where Kate was standing with her back to the sands, ushering her guests to join her to look down at the sands. Jonah, the owner of the _Alpha Pack_ was standing beside her.

It took a couple of minutes for all the guests to assemble, in which time Derek felt Stiles’ long fingers wrap around his wrist.

“Before you and below you, my Lords and Ladies,” Kate began to announce. “Are the _Lupus Ludus_ Gladiators and house slaves. I have decided to have a complete refresh of my slaves, but instead of merely selling them off, I thought I would host the most memorable fight of the year.”

Stiles fingers tightened almost painfully around Derek’s arm. She was going to get rid of all of them.

Kate continued; “Lord Jonah has kindly lent his famous _Alpha Pack_ to the entertainment, and the rules are as follows…” She spun around to look down on all of her slaves, and her gaze landed on Derek, and Stiles beside him, and she sneered, her eyes narrowing. “The _Alpha Pack_ will be removed of their collars and allowed to shift. The _Ludus Lupus_ Gladiators will not. The _Alpha Pack_ have permission to kill as many of the _Ludus Lupus_ slaves as they wish. Any of my Gladiators left standing will have proven themselves strong enough fighters, even in their unshifted forms, and will be allowed to remain my Gladiators. The house slaves that survive will be sold on to other houses. There will be an auction of any survivors at the end of the day.”

“What makes you think we will kill our own outside of the arena?” One of the Alpha Twins – Derek could not tell them apart, he did not know them well enough – shouted at her.

Kate looked angry at the interruption, but Jonah answered his slave for her.

“If my Alphas do as they are bid and survive the day, they will receive the payments of three wins in the arena.”

“Enough to pay for my freedom,” Derek heard Deucalion mutter, out of earshot of anyone but the Alphas of his Ludus, and Derek’s supernatural hearing.

“We can send that home to mother,” one of the twins muttered to the other. “And the odds of us winning are good.”

“I’m happy to just kill them all,” he heard Kali hiss. “Me and the _Undefeated Alpha_ have unfinished business from our last fight.”

He heard Ennis grunt his agreement.

And just like that, Derek knew that their escape plan had been shattered in an instant. Kate had unknowingly ruined their plan.

It was not about getting out later, now. They might well be dead later. They had to escape now, or they were not going to escape at all. Ever. If any of them were still alive to see it.

Luckily, Derek had one last idea to attempt, because he could not back down now. Not after everything he had been through. What those he loved had been through.

“We leave now,” Derek told his pack.

“How, Derek?” Peter asked, sounding guarded as the guards moved to remove the collars from the _Alpha Pack_ , weapons never leaving them. His uncle, the one who normally held so many of the answers, was asking him how they were escaping this one. He did not know if it would work, but he at least had to try.

“I have an idea.” He sounded far more confident than he felt. “Prepare to defend yourselves.”

At his order, everyone moved. Weapons were grabbed from the racks and Derek heard an offended, confused murmur of the crowd when Kira, clearly dressed in house slave garb, took a couple of swords and braced herself in a professional fighting stance, her eyes glowing orange. Boyd passed Derek a sword of his own and Stiles turned up beside him holding a deadly curved blade in one hand and a long dagger in his other. Without words, Derek guided Stiles behind him, until Stiles, Danny and Matt, though armed, were pushed back into the circle of Gladiators, protected at all sides. The Werewolves and Kitsune would heal after an Alpha attack. A human would not.

“Let the fight commence!” Kate shouted over the sands.

Derek glanced up at her. She was staring down at them all with smug hatred, her eyes returning to Kira, another supernatural that had been living right under her nose.

The _Alpha Pack_ immediately began to advance, and Derek ordered the others to “Wait here, protect the humans.”

He was grateful that even the Betas and Alphas not in his pack, like Smith and Marcus, Freya and Sasha, Elle and Tomas, followed his orders, let him attempt the idea he had to help them.

He then began to walk forwards a couple of paces, towards Deucalion, who was leading the Alphas forwards.

“Deucalion,” Derek said on a breath, so quietly that only Weres with access to their powers would be able to hear him. “I know you can hear me. I can hear you too.”

He watched Deucalion frown, and walk a little slower, the Alphas behind him doing likewise, watching Derek suspiciously.

“How?” came Deucalion’s reply, whispered into the space between them.

Derek allowed his eyes to flash their Alpha red, lightening quick, in their direction, out of view of the balcony. Deucalion didn’t see it, of course, but the other Alphas stalled, one of the twins and Kali flashing their own with a snarl.

“Deucalion,” the other twin muttered, confused, “He has his collar on but…”

“He has use of his powers?” Deucalion guessed quietly, knowingly. “Interesting. Come forward, Alpha.”

“Will you kill me if I do?”

“Not until you tell me what it is you want.”

Derek glanced up at the guests on the balcony, but they did not seem fazed by the long wait for the fight. The tension and anticipation was building. To them, it looked like the Weres were readying themselves to fight for their lives, the cautious build was only adding to the entertainment. It looked like Derek and Deucalion were heading for a standoff in the centre before the _Alpha Pack_ made their move.

He looked back at the slaves of his own Ludus. Peter was watching the proceedings with curious intrigue, Scott was standing in front of Stiles, hand around his wrist, trying to keep his eyes on every threat at once. Stiles was looking directly at Derek. When their eyes met he nodded sharply, his face set with determination. Erica, Boyd, Isaac, Liam, Kira and the others were waiting to see what would unfold, but prepared the fight the moment anything did go wrong.

If he played this right, they would not have to fight at all. At least, not the Alpha pack, anyway. The success of the plan depended on Allison getting the keys to the collars. Hopefully she would be retrieving the keys any moment now, and then would come back and see how the plan had changed, that the situation required fast action. She had a hunter’s instinct. She would know what to do.

***

Allison was hacking at one of the barred windows with the small dagger she usually kept about her waist, having been unable to pick the door lock with it, when the door swung open. She whipped around, knife at the ready.

She blinked in surprise. “Bennett?”

One of her Aunt’s guards was standing in the doorway, looking shiftily at her, and then out into the corridor, clearly not wanting to be seen.

“If you have got those keys, my lady,” Bennett said, “Then you need to get them on the sands right about now if you want any of your little Wolf friends to survive the day.”

She hesitated, concerned for her friends, but also concerned that she was about to rush into another of her Aunt’s traps.

“You are helping them?” she asked cautiously.

“Derek has paid me a rather large sum for my loyalty, and I would rather like to get as far away from here as I can before whatever is about to happen happens. So I would hurry up and get those keys to the sands, my lady.”

She left the room without further question. Bennett moved in the direction of the exit and once out of the Ludus, started running.

***

Derek and Deucalion continued to walk slowly, warily, towards each other.

“How?” Deucalion asked him quietly.

“We have formed a pack.”

“And you chosen as Alpha? Interesting. I thought such a thing impossible. You have my attention, _Undefeated Alpha._ What is it that you want?”

“You could kill us all and get paid. Or you could kill them all, and get out.”

Deucalion remained silent. It was almost eerie how his blind eyes seemed to see so much.

“Well, that certainly is an offer…”

“It would not just be you on the attack. They don’t know about me, and we have a Kitsune behind us. The others should be freed of their collars if the plan we have in place works. Jonah is here. You could get revenge on him for blinding you.”

When they were a mere pace apart, they stopped.

“Jonah didn’t blind me,” Deucalion said. “Gerard Argent did.”

“Well Gerard Argent is here too,” Derek murmured. “Can’t you sense him?”

Blind eyes turned up to the balcony overhead. He seemed to be listening, looking without seeing.

“So he is,” he said. “Freedom,” Deucalion continued, “would taste sweeter if fought for and won, rather than paying for the privilege and then having to pander to them despite having earned it.”

Derek hoped that that meant that he was coming around to the idea, and that if Deucalion decided he wanted bloodshed of those who had captured, enslaved and blinded him, then the other Alphas of his Ludus would too.

“You can have all of them and Gerard,” Derek muttered, “On the condition you leave Kate and Chris Argent to us. Don’t touch the Argent girl, she is on our side and getting the keys for us. Give any slaves their freedom.”

“You hear that Alphas?” Deucalion asked.

“We hear you, Deucalion,” came Kali’s keen hiss. “Let’s kill the fuckers for ever thinking they could own us.”

“Scott!” There came a shout from overhead, and Derek spun to see Allison standing at the window on the floor above the balcony that Kate and her guests were standing on.

“Guards!” Kate screamed, but she was too late to stop Allison throwing the metal loop of keys across the sands and into the middle of the _Lupus Ludus_ slaves.

“I suppose the ‘plan’ is in motion?” Deucalion said, as the guards burst into life around them. “Alphas?”

On his word, the Alphas of the _Alpha Pack_ flew with the speed of hurricanes, unforgiving and unafraid, into the surrounding guards, claws slashing, uncaring of any drawn or loosed weapons. Kira went with them, spinning, using the swords in her hands with elegant ease, her eyes glowing.

“Derek!”

Derek turned to find Boyd slamming a shield into the sand, directly opposite the balcony, and ducking behind it to give it support.

Derek was about to move, but Deucalion beat him to it. The _Demon Wolf_ , red eyes blazing, ran with effortless ease up to the shield and leapt off of it, up and into the shrieking crowd on the balcony.

Derek paused.

“Go Derek,” he heard Peter say. “I’ve got Stiles.”

And so Derek took a breath, and he ran, and he shifted as he jumped.

***

Stiles watched with an open mouth as Derek disappeared into the screaming crowd on the balcony. He then was broken from his moment of awe and concern for Derek when a hand shoved his head down, an arrow loosed by one of the guards sailing over his head.

“Scott,” Stiles glanced at his best friend, who had pushed him down.

Scott’s collar was gone, his amber eyes were glowing.

More and more Gladiators were being loosed from their collars, and were running in all directions; at the guards around the sands, up at the guests on the balcony. The more were freed, the more commotion there was.

“I need to find my mother. I need to find Allison,” Scott told him in panic. “If Kate finds her first…”

Stiles could see the confliction in Scott’s eyes; go to help Allison and his mother, or stay and protect Stiles.

“Go,” Stiles said. “I have things I need to do.”

Scott’s eyes widened worriedly. “Stiles don’t do anything…” he paused. “You can’t go on your own.”

“He won’t be on his own.” Peter yanked Stiles to his feet. “Come on, Stiles, we have to get Jackson.”

Stiles looked at Scott and nodded. “Go.”

Scott smiled at him, darted forward to press a kiss to Stiles’ forehead. “Be safe.”

“You too,” Stiles cried out, as Peter started dragging him by the arm towards the dining hall of the Ludus.

Peter had the collar keys, all the Weres freed of their collars but Derek, and he threw them to Stiles before shifting, taking the guard that approached them down with a couple of easy swipes of his claws.

Peter carved them a bloody path to the solitary cell that Jackson was locked in, and Stiles did not have time to feel concerned over the fact that he did not feel anything for the dead and dying men they left behind them.

Stiles unlocked the door to Jackson’s cell, but Peter pushed his way in first, holding an arm out to keep Stiles behind him.

Jackson was sitting in the corner of the room, chained to the wall, his head bowed. He did not even look up when the door opened.

“Jackson.” Peter asked, no-nonsense and impatient.

Jackson’s head shot up, his eyes narrowed and he snarled.

“ _You_?! You…” And then Jackson spotted Stiles behind Peter. “What’s going on?”

“Well, we are in the middle of a rebellion, Jackson,” Stiles commented, spreading his arms wide to gesture the current situation. “What does it look like?”

Jackson blinked.

“I know you don’t have any reason to trust me, or like me,” Peter said, “Frankly, right now, I couldn’t care less. But you trust Stiles...”

“Debatable.”

“Rude,” Stiles admonished. “You might not like us or trust us anymore, but you want to be free, don’t you? So we can go and get Lydia back?”

Jackson’s gaze moved from Peter to Stiles, and his eyes softened at the mention of Lydia. “Yes.”

“Well then,” Stiles held the keys aloft. “Let’s get that collar off you then.”

The moment Jackson was freed, his expression hardened to one of determination, his eyes glowing as he shifted.

“I have some scores to settle,” Jackson said.

“Not with Peter I hope.”

Bright eyes flicked to Peter and back to Stiles. “No, not today.”

“Good. Then go and settle those scores,” Stiles said, whilst tying the ring of keys into the material of his shirt. “We leave as soon as everyone who needs to be dead is dead. Just make sure you make it out alive.”

Jackson nodded sharply and left in the direction of the sands.

“Come on,” Peter said, stalking out of the cell and leading Stiles towards the steps of the house, until they heard running footsteps in the corridor on their left. Peter froze. Sniffed. “Argent,” he said, before taking off after the running figure.

Stiles followed as fast as he could and reached Peter the moment after he slammed Chris Argent back into the wall of the corridor.

“Peter, stop!” Stiles shouted, “Wait!”

“Why should I wait?” Peter snapped. “After what he’s done?”

“Because it’s not him that wronged you. It was Kate. Go and help Derek in the house, he will need it.”

Peter considered Stiles’ words, claws lengthening against Chris’ neck, “Or I could just…”

“Peter,” Stiles said again. “Please. I’ll deal with it.”

Peter turned, red eyes considering Stiles thoughtfully. Finally he stepped back and let Chris go.

“Since you asked so nicely, darling,” Peter shrugged at Stiles. “He can be your choice to make.”

He turned to sneer at Chris, before shifting into his wolf; coal black and red-eyed, and running back towards the Ludus steps.

Stiles looked back at Chris, who had not moved, breathing heavily and watching Stiles warily. Stiles still had a dagger in his left hand. He looked at it, and then back at Chris.

“Stiles…” Chris started, stepping forwards, hand outstretched. His voice was strained.

“Don’t…” Stiles held out the dagger threateningly. “Don’t you try to trick me. Lie to me. You…you knew she killed my father, didn’t you? That’s why you took me in!”

Chris did not ask how Stiles knew.

“Yes,” Chris said, holding his hands up, placating. His eyes were filled with tears and Stiles did not care why. “I did know.”

“What did she kill him with?” Stiles shouted. “What did she kill him with?”

“Poison,” Chris said. “She used poison.”

Stiles let out an agonised cry, “You let me think he had driven himself to his own death.”

“He had. I warned him not to get involved…”

“In the fire that killed the entirety of Derek and Peter’s family?!” Stiles shouted.

In Stiles’ anger, he became distracted, and Chris was a hunter, after all. The knife was knocked from Stiles’ hand and Chris had him held up against the wall, right in his face, angry.

“She is my _sister._ At the time I thought it was my duty to get her out of the mess she created. By the time she killed your father and I took you in, I knew I should have done the right thing about the Hale fire, but that would have incriminated my father, my wife. Allison would have been left alone.”

“ _I_ was left alone!” Stiles seethed. “And you did nothing!”

“I took you in! I saved you from the poor house, Stiles. From a life on the streets. As soon as I heard your father was dead, I knew Kate must have had something to do with it. I made sure I was first to the house…”

“To hide the evidence! To take the case file!”

“To get you!” Chris countered, pushing harder into Stiles’ shoulder. “I could not save your father, but I could save you.”

“You never cared about me,” Stiles argued.

“You were my _slave_ , Stiles. I was never supposed to care.” Chris snapped. “But I did. And you know it.”

Chris had saved Stiles from a life on the streets, or in poverty. He had probably saved him from an early grave. He had been lenient with him. He had let him play with Allison and grow close to Scott and Melissa. He had even looked out for him when Stiles had demanded moving to Kate’s Ludus. Yes, he had punished Stiles the one time Stiles had tried to run away, and had berated him for poor behaviour, but he had never been cruel.

Stiles finally relaxed in Chris’ grip, bowing his head. He was surprised when he felt Chris let go of him with one hand, to run his fingers quickly through Stiles’ hair.

He then let Stiles go, took a step back.

“Victoria is dead,” Chris said, his voice choked.

Stiles looked up at him in shock. Although he had known that every noble in the house would likely die, the idea of his former Mistress being dead took him by utter surprise.

“She was never meant to be killed,” he said. “Derek wouldn’t have…”

“She wasn’t. She was bitten. She killed herself, knowing she would turn.”

“But she could have lived,” Stiles said, before remembering how Victoria had demanded Scott leave her house immediately once he had been bitten. She would have been a hypocrite to have tried to make Chris let her stay. He would have done, Stiles knew, but Victoria’s hatred of Weres was clearly stronger than her will to live. “I am sorry,” he said, then.

“And I will lose my daughter today, too,” Chris said, watching Stiles sadly. “I know she will leave with you.”

“She did plan to,” Stiles admitted. “But at least she won’t lose you, and will know you will always be here if she wants to return.”

“You aren’t going to kill me, Stiles?”

Stiles shook his head. Chris had covered up his father’s murder, but he had also taken him in and taken care of him in the only way he could, for five years. He was going to let Chris live, for Allison, for himself, for his former master.

“Tell Allison I love her,” Chris said. “And that if she ever needs help, she knows where I am.”

“I will.”

Chris regarded Stiles. He looked older and devastated, but still strong, practical, ever the Argent.

“Goodbye, Stiles.”

“Goodbye Lord Christopher.”

Chris watched him for a moment longer, before offering him a nod, and moving away. Stiles took a deep, shaking breath. He picked up the dagger that had been knocked from his hand and headed towards the Ludus stairs, following the bloody trail that Peter had left behind him.

***

Derek’s mouth was reddened, his claws equally blood-stained, and whilst he had never thrilled in the deaths of his opponents in the arena, he had to admit that killing those that had captured him and others like him, and made them fight for their entertainment, was not just satisfying. It felt like justice.

He had killed three people that had bought a night with him over the years and several others he had seen do similar to Jackson and Erica and Boyd. Deucalion had killed numerous others and Derek had left several running and screaming to be dealt with by the Weres that followed him. He knew that Erica had leapt up into the house via the balcony and had run to guard the exit from anyone trying to escape. It had left Derek free to hunt down Kate.

He found her in one of the ornamental halls near her rooms, blood-stained weapons in each hand.

“Derek,” she laughed manically when she saw him, eyes wide and focused. Ennis lay dead at her feet. “I bet you are feeling very pleased with yourself.”

“How does it feel?” he said, ignoring her, “Being the weak and the hunted one?”

She stuck her sword into Ennis’ body as though to make a point. “Who said anything about being weak, darling? The only weak one here is you. You were always weak for me, you are weak emotionally. And you are weak for allowing yourself to get bewitched by a house slave, and attaching yourself to lesser Wolves.”

“Do I look weak?” Derek snarled, shifting to his beta-form.

Kate’s eyes flitted from his collar and back to his face.

“It is because of our attachments that made me strong enough to overpower my collar. That was what swayed Deucalion to listen long enough to decide to turn on you all. And it was you that missed that, Kate. Of course I am very glad were so ignorant. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

Derek stalked forwards, claws lengthening.

“You are standing where you are because I let you. I made you my champion.”

“You made me your _sex slave_ ,” Derek snarled.

“I did,” Kate sneered. “Because I could.”

“And you burned my home and killed my family. Just because you could.”

Kate paused, lips twisting. “Exactly.” She lifted her blades and pointed them towards him, waiting. “I burnt down your home, killed your family, made sure your sisters were sent far far away…”

“Why?” Derek choked.

Kate looked deliberately confused. “Well, because Weres aren’t supposed to be free. You only have yourself to blame, Derek. It was you I saw shift in the forest, that led me back to the family house. That was how I found out about your ‘pack’. Because of your carelessness.”

Derek froze, the words stabbing him, wounding him more than any blade. Kate’s heart had not stuttered. She was telling the truth.

“No.”

“Oh yes, you and one of your brothers. I remembered your face and when I went to that auction and saw that you had survived, well, I just had to have you. Your life was mine from the first day I laid eyes on you in that forest. You have always been mine and you always will be.”

“I never belonged to you,” Derek growled, using all of his anger and pain over his family and letting it power him through the guilt and forwards. “You never had my heart. Never. But I have yours, don’t I? You are obsessed with me and what I am.”

Kate snorted, as though Derek was absurd. But her heart gave a trip.

“I don’t love you,” Kate laughed pityingly, “Humans cannot love animals. Weres are incapable of love.”

Her heart skipped on the lie. Derek could not believe it, his stomach twisting, sickened.

“You do, don’t you?” He asked, horrified. “After everything you have done to me, your torture and your possession, your obsession with my kind. You have fallen in love with me, and you hate it. And you hate even more that I have fallen in love with someone that isn’t you. That I am not a slave to your every whim and desire and command.”

The moment he stepped into her range, she flung herself forwards, slashing at him with expertise.

“You simpleton, you think that I ever cared about you?” she shrieked. “You disgust me. A filthy wretch. A dog. An animal! A monster!”

Derek shot to the side, whipped around and slammed his arm down on her hand, hard. One of her blades dropped to the floor. He punched her in the jaw, and as her head snapped back, he disarmed her other hand. He grabbed her by the throat and pushed her back, staggering into the nearest wall. He lifted her to her toes, pressing her back into the cold stone.

“You killed my family,” Derek snarled in her face. “You tortured me. You raped me. You let your ‘friends’ rape me. You tortured those that I love. The only repulsive monster here is you.” He held her neck tighter.

Kate was scratching deep gouges into his arms, eyes popping and wild as she fought for breath. She still looked furious.

“You disgust me,” Derek spat. “And I have to tell you, this revenge, destroying everything you have built, tastes even sweeter than the cakes that Stiles has been sneaking down to the Ludus for me for _months_. You had no idea what was going on in the Ludus right below your feet, right before your eyes. You were so smug, so sure of your total control, you couldn’t even see that every single person in this house was plotting how to overthrow you, plotting how to destroy you and your father and you lecherous allies. But I, I get the honour of choosing how you die.”

He relaxed his hold a fraction and she spat a gob of saliva into his face.

“I should have killed you,” she whispered, “Tied you down, fucked you, and then killed you slowly, blade by blade. Stuck them through you into the mattress until you bled out. I should have sold Stiles on to Lord Ithan, had him fucked to the point of…”

“Shut up!”

She jeered at him. “Even now, when I am threatening the boy, you cannot even kill me.” Her eyes lit up. “Even after everything I have done to you, you can’t kill me. You are stalling.”

Derek snarled, right up in her face. He wanted to kill her. He could kill her. All he had to do was tear her throat out, or slit her throat, or ram his claws into her stomach or claw out her heart. There was nothing stopping him from doing it. But for some reason, he wasn’t doing it. He had just said that he was not a slave to her, to her command, but as every logical part of himself urged him to kill her, his body would not cooperate.

“Kill me, Derek,” Kate goaded, knowing and smug and seething, “Go on, you coward. Kill me.”

Derek slammed her back into the wall, hearing her head hit the stone, but it was not hard enough to do any severe damage.

“Maybe I broke you in more than you thought, Derek,” Kate whispered, “Maybe you really are mine, because I made your life miserable, I killed your family, I tortured you and the other slaves, and yet, you cannot kill me.”

“You didn’t,” Derek choked. “You didn’t.”

She had taken him apart, tortured him, wounded him, manipulated him emotionally and physically. Why could he not do it? Why was he not killing her?

“Yes I did,” Kate said, “You are mine. And you are weak. They have chosen you as their Alpha? Ha! You could not even protect your own family, how do you even expect to protect…”

Finally, something snapped. Derek lashed out. The claw gouges he left in her chest were deep enough that they would turn her, turn her into a Were, if she survived the transformation. And then he dropped her to the floor. He could not kill her, as much as he despised himself for it, but he could give her a very different, much colder fate.

“Derek,” she spat blood onto the tiles, glaring up at him. “You coward. Kill me.”

“I am going to give you a fate worse than death. I am going to leave you to the decision of your peers. You can live as a slave, as a sex slave, if you wish. You can kill yourself and save yourself the torture. It depends how kind they are to you. They might enslave you into the arena, and you can fight for your freedom. I don’t care,” he smiled. He fleetingly wondered when he had last, if ever, smiled at his Domina. “Because I will be long gone. I will be free. With my pack. My family.”

Kate laughed, long and bitter and blood-stained.

“Broken, Derek. You agree that your own race is a curse. You are using it to punish me. You know that to be a Were is something to despise.”

“I don’t think it’s a curse,” Derek said, calm and at peace with himself, after a very long time. “I was born a Were and I am proud to be one, despite all you have done to make me think otherwise. I am teaching you a lesson. Maybe you will learn that to be a Were is not a curse, like your other Gladiators have finally come to learn. But by that point you will be fighting for your life once a month on the sands; all your family dead. Maybe then you will know what it feels like.” Derek paused, “Though, all those around you in your Ludus would know who you used to be and what you used to make your own slaves do, so, you would probably be punished pretty well in that regard.” He turned away from the bleeding monster at his feet. “I would bid you farewell, but you don’t deserve it.”

He closed his eyes, took a breath, let years’ worth of torment, for that moment at least, slide off his shoulders. He still had work to do. He needed to find Stiles and Peter, regroup the pack and the other Weres, deal with any casualties and be gone before the authorities found out what had happened. He did not look back at her. He walked away.

He had made it half way across the hall when a wolf ran into view from the direction of the Ludus steps. He recognised the coal black wolf immediately. Peter.

Peter slid to a halt, whipping around to stare towards Derek, and then he started to run at him.

There was no time for Derek to think, and he could not shift into a wolf himself because his collar was still on, but there was a brief moment in which Derek feared his uncle was going to try and kill him, like he had planned to do with Laura to gain her status as pack Alpha.

But Peter shifted mid-run, sailed past Derek, shouting a warning at him.

Derek spun around to find that Kate had silently hauled herself to her feet and had been advancing on Derek with a dagger in hand. She was moments away from plunging it into his back.

Peter grabbed her with a clawed hand and spun her back and away, Kate shrieking as the claws punctured her skin. The dagger sent flying.

Peter turned her to face Derek, Peter pressed against her back, one of his clawed hands around her throat.

“Well,” Peter hissed in her ear, “You did turn me into an assassin…”

And without any further fuss, Peter slit her throat open with his claws.

Kate’s eyes were fixed on Derek and they widened as she began to choke on another rush of blood. Her hands flew to her throat as Peter pushed her away and said, “This is for our family, and for my nephew. You fucking bitch.”

With one last look at Derek and the hating, unforgiving smile on his face, she fell to the floor and with a couple more pulses of blood from her opened throat, she was dead.

Peter looked up at Derek, watching him carefully. Derek was waiting for Peter to berate him, to ask him why the gods he hadn’t killed her immediately, done justice for their family. Gotten revenge for their family. Ask why he had been stupid enough to let her live and then had turned his back on an Argent.

But all Peter said was, “I am glad we got to kill her.”

Derek sent him a wavering, grateful smile. Unable yet to process the relief he felt that she was dead, glad that Peter had been there to be strong enough to do what Derek could not.

“Me too,” Derek said. He looked past Peter into the hallway. “Where’s Stiles?”

“I left him with Chris Argent down in the Ludus.”

“What?”

“He wanted to be left alone with him. He said he could handle it. It’s a good job I did leave. You would be dead if I hadn’t.”

Derek sent him an apologetic look before striding towards the Ludus steps.

“I’m going to find him.”

“I am going to go and enjoy killing some more people. See you at the sands?”

Derek nodded. “We can’t be here much longer.”

“I will tell people to hurry up killing everybody.”

Derek could not help but smile at his uncle sounding so happy and went in search of Stiles, leaving the dead body of his tormentor lying in a puddle of her own blood.

***

Stiles cautiously climbed the Ludus steps. He could have gone back down to the sands, to the gate, where they were all supposed to meet. But his curiosity had gotten the better of him. He wanted to make sure Allison and Melissa had gotten out. He needed to make sure Gerard and Kate Argent were dead. He needed to find Derek. He also had a mission of his own in mind.

His need to find those he loved, however, meant that he also had to look at each and every bloodied body that he passed. He could tell from a glance, at the clothing, to know if the body belonged to a guard, a slave owner, a slave or a Gladiator. He had passed at least one of each, but thankfully more casualties on the side of their captors, than of the slaves. The house was quiet now, apart from the odd scream. He supposed the Weres were searching the rooms now, to make sure nobody was hiding.

He passed Victoria Argent’s body not far from the Ludus steps. The knife she had stabbed herself with still lay in her loose, dead grip. He did not feel mournful.

He walked towards Kate’s rooms, keeping alert and ready. He passed a couple of Gladiators, but they didn’t pay him any attention, letting him pass without comment. The room was empty when he reached it. Without hesitating, Stiles crossed the room to Kate’s desk and immediately started rifling through the paperwork around it. He was looking for paperwork relating to the mines that Lydia had been sent to, to give them a place to start looking. It took him a good few minutes, but he found a contract amongst a stack of other papers. He whooped aloud despite himself, thrilled with finding something that would greatly aid their search for Lydia. If the gods were good, Lydia would still be at the initial mine she was sent to. And was still alive.

His triumph was cut short when a hand gripped the back of his neck and a body pressed him against the desk.

“Hello Stiles.”

Stiles froze.

“Get off me.”

“I don’t think I will,” Lord Ithan whispered in his ear. “You see, Kate promised that if you survived the day I could have you. Here you are. That means you are mine, now.”

Stiles’ gaze landed on the dagger that he had stupidly abandoned across the desk.

“I am nobody’s property,” Stiles hissed.

“That is no way to speak to your new Master,” Ithan scolded lightly. “We are going to have so much fun together, Stiles.”

“You will be dead long before you try to sneak me out of this house,” Stiles said.

“That may well be true,” Ithan said, “So I may as well enjoy you while I still can.”

Stiles’ eyes widened. “Don’t…” he started, before he was flung around and pressed up against the wall. With strong hands holding his arms to the wall either side of his head, and a strong thigh shoved between Stiles’ own, he was rendered immobile. And that was when he truly began to panic.

Stiles met Ithan’s eyes and Ithan smiled at him triumphantly, before crashing their lips together.

Stiles fought against Ithan’s grip as Ithan pressed him further into the wall.

“Finally,” Ithan said, once he moved back, “I get to have a taste of you.” He moved both of Stiles’ thin wrists into one large hand and pressed them above his head, as he used the other to start tugging down the loincloth around Stiles’ hips.

“Don’t,” Stiles whispered. “Don’t do it.”

Ithan leant forward, grazing his teeth against Stiles’ jaw. “Ask me nicely.”

“Please,” Stiles breathed, his throat felt thick, his eyes burned. “Please don’t.”

Ithan pressed a palm flat on Stiles’ stomach and began to push down into the loosened material. “My lord,” Ithan corrected.

“My lord…” Stiles said.

“Good boy, Stiles,” Ithan praised, smug in his victory. He moved his head back slightly to look into Stiles’ eyes.

“Stiles!” The shout across the room was the distraction Stiles needed.

Stiles threw his head forward and cracked it against Ithan. Ithan shouted angrily, hauling Stiles around to put Stiles between him and Derek, who was racing across the room, but had not factored in the fact that Stiles’ hands had been freed.

Stiles grabbed the first things he could reach; he ripped the keys from his waist with one hand, and swept up a letter opener from the desk. He plunged both the small knife and one of the keys back into the body behind him.

Ithan choked, shocked, and Stiles spun in his grip, wrenching free. As he did so, his grip on the keys was so tight that they came back with him.

He stared at Ithan, who had the letter opener hilt sticking out of his middle. The keys had hit him in the thigh, and blood was spurting from the wound Stiles had left when he had pulled the keys.

Ithan staggered back and hit the wall. Stiles took a halting step forward.

“Don’t…” Ithan whined, hands scrabbling at the wounds in his body, as his eyes looked crazed into Stiles’.

“Ask me nicely,” Stiles countered, suddenly dark and vengeful. He tapped the handle of the letter opener threateningly.

“Please,” Ithan begged.

Stiles moved back, stepping away. He watched Ithan slide down the wall with disgust.

“Stiles.” Derek had been approaching slowly, but finally reached him, reaching out to him. He took a hold of Stiles’ arm, and then turned Stiles into his body. Stiles went willingly, pressing in tight, tucked into Derek’s protective embrace. “Are you ok?” Derek whispered.

Stiles nodded against Derek’s chest.

After a long moment, Stiles took a deep breath and looked up at Derek’s face. He realised how bloodied Derek was, though not much of it appeared to be his own.

“Are you ok?” Stiles asked in return. “Kate?”

“Kate’s dead,” Derek said, as though he could still not quite believe it. “Peter and I finished it.”

Stiles let out a long, shaking breath.

“And Chris?” Derek asked him, watching him closely. He ran a thumb over the spatters of blood on Stiles’ cheek.

“I let him go,” Stiles admitted.

“Alright,” Derek said, pressing a kiss to Stiles’ temple. “Alright.”

“And what about him?” Stiles asked, voice wavering, as he looked down at Ithan, who was still semi-conscious and bleeding out on the floor.

“The wound in his thigh,” Derek said, “He’ll bleed out in the next few minutes.”

Stiles looked down at Ithan’s hazy gaze and nodded, lip curling, eyes hard. “Good.”

Derek took his hand, “We have to go and meet the others.”

Stiles nodded, snatching up the contract he had found about Lydia with blood-red fingers. “Lead the way.”

And so they left Ithan bleeding out on the floor. They left the house, and then the Ludus, away from the people who had held them captive.

Stiles, still stunned by the sudden and violent turn of events calmed as he watched Derek take his first true breaths of freedom. Stiles followed Derek out of the _Lupus Ludus_ and did not look back. He could only look forward and follow wherever Derek may lead him next.

***

They found out later that Matt had not made it out alive. Nine of the _Lupus Ludus_ Wolves had died. Ennis from the _Alpha Pack_ had been killed by Kate, and a couple of Ithan’s house slaves had been killed in the commotion. The loss of Matt cut deeply. He had been a good friend to the house slaves and had known most of the Gladiators through his service in the Ludus dining hall. Stiles felt guilty for his death, even though there had been little Stiles or any of them could have done to prevent it. They said that it had been a guard’s arrow.

Everyone else had survived relatively unscathed.

Deucalion had killed Gerard Argent and Jonah, Peter and Derek had killed Kate Argent and there had been no survivors amongst their guests, other than Chris Argent, who had disappeared. Scott had found Allison and Melissa and had protected them, gotten them out. When Stiles had first seen them, Scott had rushed forward and wrapped him up in a tight hug. Allison and Melissa had followed suit and it was only then that Stiles allowed himself to cry. Melissa had held him close, talking soothingly into his ear. Allison was devastated about the death of her mother and had cried with relief when Stiles had told her that her father had gotten away and of the message Chris had sent with him. Stiles was also glad to see Deaton alive and with them, holding a bag full of various bottles and herbs.

For all that they all had to say to each other, they had not been able to linger for long. They had had to run. Stiles was surprised that the _Alpha Pack_ decided to join them, as they had entered the sewers not far from the Ludus and made their way through the maze under city.

Stiles had walked amongst the pack, making sure to check in with all of them; with Kira and Danny and Jackson, with Isaac, Erica, Boyd and Liam. All of them smiled at him, relieved and weary; ready for freedom, but nervous about getting through the next few hours.

They walked in the sewers for several hours, before making base towards the forest. They would make a break for freedom at nightfall.

It was organised so that shifts were taken to rest and stand on watch, but whilst others sat and rested, Stiles found that he could not keep still. He was still full of adrenaline, anxious energy. He had stabbed a man. He had stabbed a man, who had then bled out. He had been assaulting Stiles, but still…Stiles’ knee jumped. His fingers fidgeted with the blood-stained keys in his grip. It was not long before he stood and began to seek out Kira, Danny, Melissa and the other house slaves that had escaped with them in turn, allowing them to take their collars off and discard them in the sewers.

Finally, there were only two collars that needed to be removed. Stiles looked around for Derek, but could not find him. After searching various tunnels and watch-posts, he finally found Derek standing alone at one of the openings out and up into the forest.

Derek was standing with his back to the tunnel wall, staring out at the late afternoon beyond; the trees, the sky turning orange, the moon already rising.

“Derek?” Stiles asked quietly.

Derek had obviously heard him coming, because he did not seem surprised to see him. He turned and smiled softly.

“It’s just you and me, now,” Stiles said, holding up the keys and jangling them. “Ready to be free of that thing?”

Derek took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a moment. “You have no idea.”

“Let me?” Stiles offered. Derek bowed his head, and Stiles unlocked his collar for him, easing it from Derek’s neck and tossing it aside.

Derek lifted a hand to his neck, rubbing it slowly.

“How does it feel?” Stiles asked.

“Like freedom,” Derek breathed.

Stiles was about to reply, when Derek shifted. Where Derek had been standing, a pitch black wolf with a silver-white underbelly and under-muzzle sat, looking up at him with red eyes.

Stiles dropped immediately to his knees. He raised his hands with a questioning raise of his eyebrow, and the Wolf before him inclined its head. Stiles laughed, laying his hands in fur. Amazed, awed, Stiles petted Derek’s head and side for a moment, before flinging his arms around him. He hugged Derek to him, burying his head in Derek’s fur.

They stayed like that for some time, until he felt Derek shift in his arms, and Derek was holding him back. He looked up into Derek’s face, and leaned forwards to kiss him.

Derek hummed, placing fingers under Stiles’ chin to deepen and slow the kiss, languid and easy, and when they broke apart, Stiles laughed, happy and exhilarated.

“Just you now,” Derek murmured, tracing Stiles’ collar with his fingers.

Stiles tilted his head to the side once Derek had retrieved the keys and swallowed, testing, when Derek took the collar from him.

“How does it feel?” It was Derek’s turn to ask him.

Stiles found himself at a loss for words, groping at the bare column of his neck.

Derek smiled at him and stood, reaching out a hand to pull Stiles to his feet.

“I can’t believe we are free,” Stiles said. He laughed, a little hysterically. “We are free.”

Derek grinned back. “We are.”

“We don’t have to hide,” Stiles said, motioning between them.

Derek shook his head, gaze suddenly focused. “No, we don’t.” His eyes had fallen automatically to Stiles’ collarless neck.

Stiles smirked, “Like what you see?”

“You know I do,” Derek said, stepping forwards.

He pulled Stiles to him and Stiles went willingly, tilting his head so that Derek could bury his face in Stiles’ neck. Stiles gave a hitching moan as Derek licked a stripe up Stiles’ neck, and sucked kiss into the pulse point.

“You can mark me, now,” Stiles reminded him breathlessly.

Derek groaned against his skin.  “Are you sure? You know what it means?”

“I know exactly what it means and I am very, very sure.”

Derek pushed Stiles the few steps back until his back met the tunnel wall, and Derek pressed against him. Derek kissed him softly on the neck, before his lips were replaced with blunted teeth, biting down.

Stiles groaned, tilting his head back, as Derek hitched him up the wall until Stiles’ legs were wrapped around Derek’s waist. Stiles shuddered against him as Derek moved his hips, pressing back and forth, rolling them against Stiles and Stiles fell apart, clutching at the back of Derek’s neck, his hair.

Derek finally released Stiles’ neck, peppering kisses, and let him down. Derek’s gaze was heated and Stiles pulled him down to kiss him, pulling him back against him again, hard.

With fumbling hands and quick movements they helped each other find release, kissing and breathing into each other’s mouths and skin.

Finally they slumped down together against the tunnel entrance, wrapped up in each other. But they could not stay for long. The sun was going down and they had work to do. They had to get to a place of safety. They had to go and rescue Cora and Lydia, and see if they could find Laura. They needed to find a new home.

Stiles finally hauled himself to his feet and held a hand out for Derek. Once they were both standing, Stiles fussed and complained about Derek looking a mess, fixing him up, dragging hands through his hair to tidy it.

“Have you heard what Erica is saying about you?” Derek asked into the quiet. “The boy who runs and fights with Wolves.”

“And fucks one of them,” Stiles winked at him. "Loves one of them."

Derek rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell her that. We won’t hear the end of it.”

Stiles laughed. “It’s not her you should be worried about. I am the one who is going to milk that reputation for all its worth.”

Derek regarded for a moment, a small smile lingering on his lips. Then he held out his hand, determined, “Come on then, Stiles,” Derek said, “Let’s show them how fast we can run and how hard we will fight for our right to be free.”

That was an offer that Stiles could never refuse. He slid his fingers into Derek’s and together they walked back through the tunnels to join their pack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise once again for the long wait for this chapter. I also am sorry for any glaring errors, I have not had time to thoroughly reread and check, but will fix any issues soon. There will be an epilogue in a few weeks time. I hope you enjoyed this super extra long chapter and thank you once again for your patience.


	14. Epilogue

Hunters had known about Hellhounds for decades. They were hard to track down, harder to hunt and impossible to capture and enslave. Collars that could repress the powers of Werewolves, Panthers, Coyotes, Chimera and other Supernaturals did not work on Hellhounds. The determination of Hunters to rectify that, and in the absence of method to capture, contented themselves with trying to kill Hellhounds instead. Hellhounds had gathered into nomadic colonies in remote areas, constantly moving to avoid regular Hunting parties. It was a hard life, always on the move, always wary and watching, always able to sense the deaths of other Supernaturals and Hellhounds that weren’t so lucky.

That was the life that Jordan Parrish had been born into. He had known nothing different from the existence made up of moving, watching, wariness. When he had been fourteen years old, his colony had sailed across the seas and found a location of relative safety, merging with a larger foreign colony. They had been undiscovered for ten years. Or so they had thought. When he was twenty-four, the Hunters had come for them. The Hunters had made a breakthrough not long before the attack; they had finally achieved the impossible. They had figured out how to capture and hold Hellhounds, and they had wanted to test their new technology. The attack had devastated the colony; those who survived the slaughter were scattered and an unlucky few had been captured.

Jordan Parrish had been one of the first Hellhounds ever to be captured by Hunters. It had been a great humiliation. But the feeling of guilt, the fear that he had disappointed his kind, was no kind of humiliation when compared to the year that had followed; he and others captured from his colony had been experimented on, and then once their captors had grown bored and had all the information they desired, they had separated the Hellhounds and sold them off to auction agents. Jordan had been passed around from auction to auction as a Hunter named Collins had tried to sell him off. The contraption that kept Jordan’s powers contained was a big and clunky device of chains and locks that were filled with runes - it was not a simple collar like that that contained other Supernaturals – it was unsubtle, ugly and made movement difficult, and that alone was enough to put off any Ludus Dominus or Domina that observed him. He looked like a burden rather than an asset, an unwanted challenge rather than a desired oddity. He would be hard to control, because nobody knew how to house a Hellhound, or whether they could unleash him in an arena. Nobody would buy him. Collin’s price became lower and lower, and eventually he sold Jordan to an agent taking captured or unwanted-slave Supernaturals to the mines.

And that was where he was found by the _Beacon_ , chained up to twenty other Supernaturals at a campsite on the way down to a mine in the South.

The commotion at the guarded entrance to the walled camp was the first indication the Supernaturals had had that something was happening out of the ordinary. They were all instantly alert, despite their collars inhibiting their powers and the fact that their being chained together meant that they were all having to sit on the ground. It was a foggy afternoon, the air grey and infrequently broken through by sunlight, so it was hard to see what exactly was going on.

“What the hells is that?” Brett – a Beta Werewolf – asked, his keen gaze flicking suspiciously around at the shapes of the surrounding walls through the mist, as he reached out to grip his sister’s arm protectively, the chains around his wrists rattling as he did so.

“It could be the _Beacon_ ,” one of the Chimeras suggested hopefully. He had been one of a small group of Chimera and Werewolf slaves that had been experimented on by their former owners, before being sold on to the mines. They had been brought to the camp that morning. The boy – Corey, Jordan thought he had heard one of the other Chimeras call him – having only just arrived, was only hoping on a rumour of the _Beacon._ He had no idea how right he could be. He had no idea of who they were chained to, no idea of the person sitting amongst them.

Another of the Chimera new arrivals sitting nearby snorted doubtfully. “Do you really think that they would even bother…”

“Why not, Theo?” One of the Werewolves of the new group, Hayden, turned on him, her glare fiery even without the yellow glow of her Beta eyes. “They could! They have been freeing mine workers and slaves for months now!”

“We are pretty far from the Beacon Hills,” Theo argued, making a fair point in any other circumstance, “Why would they come out this far?”

“Well, because of Lydia,” Brett’s sister Lorilee piped up, “They would come out this far for her.”

Theo leaned around Brett to look at Lorilee, his eyes narrowed but curious. “Who is Lydia?”

Brett nodded to the figure sitting to Jordan’s right. “The Banshee.”

“You…are you being serious?” Theo exclaimed, as a chatter of excitement rippled amongst the slaves that had not known that Lydia was amongst them. “The Banshee from the _Lupus Ludus_?”

Almost every captured slave that had been moved through the auctions or through sales to mines knew about the infamous _Lupus Ludus_ pack. The rebellion and escape of the _Lupus Ludus_ and _Alpha Pack_ Werewolf Gladiators, the Ludus’ human and Kitsune house slaves and the resident Druid doctor, had swept across the country through gossip amongst slaves. The Argent family, excluding Lord Christopher and his daughter, the latter of whom had mysteriously disappeared, had been destroyed, along with many of their close allies, nobles and Ludus owners. The pack, led by Derek Hale, a former Gladiator named _The Undefeated Alpha_ , managed to make its way South, and after attacking a noble house allegedly holding Hale’s sister as a house slave, had set up an impenetrable base in a group of small mountains called the ‘Beacon Hills’.

The choice of base location had given rise to the name the ‘ _Beacon’,_ as teams of Hale’s Supernaturals would range out from the mountains, attacking Ludus’, rich houses, mines and their midway campsites and freeing the slaves they found there. Slaves could decide what to do next; make their own way in freedom or join the _Beacon._ Apparently the choice was even offered that if slaves wanted, they could remain in their servitude, though only a small percentage ever chose to do so.

Rumours about the _Beacon_ were numerous and often hard to believe, but one that kept circling was that the _Beacon_ were also still searching for a couple of slaves in particular; another sister of Derek Hale and a Banshee that had been sent away from the _Lupus Ludus_ after her newfound Supernatural status, and her relationship with a Werewolf Gladiator known as _The Kanima,_ had been uncovered by Kate Argent.

Jordan had met Lydia three weeks before, when the Mines-Agent that had taken him from Collins had delivered him to a mine camp. Lydia had been in the mines for several months already; worn and drawn thin. Whilst she had been reserved at first, her curiosity regarding his unique captivity had gotten her asking questions. They had made firm friends after Lydia had learned that Jordan was another Supernatural with the ability to sense death, as strange a reason as that was. He had not initially known what Supernatural she was. She hadn’t had a collar on, but she had a muzzle on. He later learned that there was never a collar created for Banshees, only muzzles to stop them screaming. She was able to speak a little, unable to open her mouth for much more than mumbling speech. Through this she had explained her Banshee powers to the extent she knew, how she had been attacked by a Were, which had caused her dormant Banshee powers to surface, and how she had been sent away from the _Lupus Ludus._ She told him that when the rebellion at the Ludus had happened, it was feared that the escaped Weres would know the location of the mine that Lydia had been sent to, and would attack it, so she was sent away to work at another mine. It was during that transfer that she had ended up at the camp Jordan was being held at.

She was excited about the Ludus rebellion. She said it had given her hope and strength to carry on the gruelling work she had been forced to do. She knew without a doubt that they would be coming for her and that they would not stop until they found her. 

It looked as if they may well have found her.

Jordan looked at Lydia, who was sitting pressed to his side.

“Lydia?” he asked, and even though he spoke quietly, his voice carried over the chained slaves, even with the shouting of the guards in the background. He knew that the other slaves were all listening to him. “Is it them?”

Lydia looked up at him, her eyes shining with obvious, relieved delight. She nodded, smiling as wide as her muzzle would allow.

“It’s them. I can feel it.”

As though in response, a Werewolves’ roar split through the dark of the night.

The slaves waited in quiet, thrilled anticipation, waiting for whatever battle was happening at the camp walls to be over.

Jordan glanced down when he felt Lydia’s small hand slip into his and squeeze it tightly. His heart was hammering. Freedom was so close that he could taste it and he could not quite believe it. Lydia had come alive beside him, getting up on her knees and straining to see through the fogged air.

It did not take long for the shouts of the guards to be silenced and then, finally, there was the sight of glowing eyes coming into view through the mist.

Lydia gave a little shriek, but could not shout as she wanted to because of her muzzle. He wasted no time in shouting for her.

“Jackson?” he shouted, a little wary at first, but once Lydia squeezed his hand again in encouragement, he cleared his throat and did it again. “Jackson! Lydia’s here! Lydia is here!”

A mere few seconds later, a Beta Werewolf in Beta-shift skidded into view, running straight for them.

“Jackson!” Lydia gave a muffled shout and Jackson all but fell on top of her in his haste to reach her.

“Lydia!” Jackson gasped, shifting to his human form to kiss every part of her face that he could reach. “Thank the gods you are alive. I have searched for you for so long…”

“And I have been waiting,” Lydia promised, lifting her hand to Jackson’s face, the cuff on her wrist meaning that the Werewolf on the other side of Lydia had to lift their arm slightly as well.

“Thank gods you are alive,” Jackson whispered again. He frowned sadly at the muzzle on her face, “What have they done to you?” He asked, like it wounded him just as much, his gaze travelling up and down Lydia’s thin form. “They haven’t been feeding you enough.” His eyes landed on where Lydia still held Jordan’s hand.

Jordan let go abruptly.

“This is Jordan,” Lydia wasted no time in introducing him. “He has been keeping me sane these last few weeks.”

Jackson’s slightly hostile expression melted immediately and he sent Jordan a dazzling smile, “For that I thank you.”

Jordan was about to reply, but the words were frozen in his throat when he heard a loud voice behind Jackson.

“Lydia!”

A brunet young man approached, surrounded by a Beta Were with dark curls, a short fair-haired Beta Were, a young woman with a bow and arrow in her hands, a Kitsune with swords unsheathed and another dark haired, more muscular man.

Upon spotting Lydia and Jackson in the crowd of chained slaves, three of the six rushed forwards.

The Kitsune reached her first, hugging her tightly, and moving so that the muscular dark haired man could hug her too.

“Danny,” Lydia greeted, her eyes tearing.

“It’s good to see you,” Danny said, squeezing Jackson’s shoulder and the top of Lydia’s arm, before being pushed aside by the brunet young man.

“Lydia!” the young man beamed, wrapping her up in his arms.

“Stiles,” Lydia said with her mumbled words, clutching at him just as tightly, “I am so glad that you are alright.”

“I am supposed to be saying that to you!” Stiles argued tearfully, pulling back to press a kiss to her cheek.

As the others dispersed amongst the slaves to start working on their release, Stiles remained kneeling between Lydia and Jackson. He was glaring at the muzzle on Lydia’s face.

“Jackson,” Stiles demanded, “Why aren’t you taking that thing off her head?”

“I haven’t had a look at it yet,” Jackson retorted, “If I could get past your big head to see it…”

“I don’t see a lock or runes,” Stiles murmured, moving Lydia’s head carefully this way and that, inspecting the offending item. “So it’s not a triggered one.” He turned to Jackson. “You have claws, don’t you? Cut through the leather.”

Jackson scoffed at the order and shoved Stiles aside. Stiles flopped onto the grass in front of Jordan, limbs flailing.

“Maybe I don’t want to destroy it,” Jackson grumbled to himself, but still loud enough to be heard. “Maybe I want to keep it because in might come in handy when I want people to shut their mouths every once in a while.”

Stiles gasped, clutching his chest as though mortally offended. “How dare you, Sir. My voice is nought but…”

“A nuisance?” Jackson cut in. “I know. Make yourself useful and help Scott and the others free these people.”

“Remind me to teach you a little bit about civility sometime,” Stiles sent back, but left the light-hearted back and forth with a nod at Lydia, checking he could move on.

It was then that Jordan found Stiles’ attention focused on him, as the young man looked at him like he had only just noticed he was there.

Stiles eyed Jordan’s chains, collar and heavy duty bindings curiously and gave a low whistle.

“This is a lot of security,” Stiles observed, “What kind of Supernatural are you, then?”

“Hellhound,” Jordan replied, glancing at Jackson as the Werewolf’s head shot up and turned to look at him in surprise.

“Oh, how marvellous!” Stiles said, and he sounded so delighted that Jordan looked back at him in bewilderment. “Another for my Supernatural checklist!” He winked, pretending to cross something in the air. “You know we have Werewolves, a Kitsune, a couple of druids,” Stiles said, counting them off on his fingers. “We have our Banshee back,” he looked fondly at Lydia, a relieved smile on his lips. “We picked a Werecoyote up the other day as well, though I can’t tell yet if she likes me or wants to kill me.”

“Probably the latter,” Jackson commented. Stiles ignored him.

“What else? Oh yes! We have a Chimera or five…though I think by the looks of it we may have a few more hopefully join us,” his eyes roamed over the slaves being freed by his friends. “Oh, and the other day we released a Kanima, which was more than a little terrifying; Derek and I ended up trapped in a lake for a few hours…long story.”

“It was hilarious,” Jackson added.

“For you! You made out like you were some kind of Kanima expert. You know just because it was your Gladiator moniker you can’t claim to be a bloody Kanima expert. You know nothing.” Stiles turned to Jordan, “If Jackson ever offers you advice on Kanimas, ignore him, ok?”

Jordan just nodded, a little stunned at the man’s cheery, joking behaviour. It had been a long time since he had seen anyone with anything to smile about.

“What are you?” Jordan asked, confused. He had not seen Stiles’ eyes glow a particular colour and he clearly wasn’t any of the Supernaturals that he had listed for his ‘Supernatural checklist’.

“Oh I’m boring, I’m afraid,” Stiles dismissed with a wave of his hand. “Just human.” He perked up excitedly, “Though Deaton – he’s a druid – says I have a ‘spark’ for magic!”

“Gods help us all,” Jackson muttered and Stiles reached over to lightly punch him in the shoulder.

Jackson huffed, “Don’t push me, idiot. I have to be careful.” Jackson had studied the muzzle on Lydia’s head thoroughly and carefully sliced through the straps with a claw.

Lydia immediately reached up to tear the muzzle away from her face. “Thank gods,” she breathed.

Jackson leant forwards to press a kiss to her lips. “You look beautiful.”

“You do, Lydia,” Stiles agreed.

Lydia looked at Jordan and he saw her smile properly for the first time. “Freedom suits you,” he said.

“It will suit you too,” she said, “Once we get you out of those awful chains.”

“I am on it,” Stiles said, tongue poking out between his teeth as he thought. “Let me check these carved runes first though. I don’t want to make any mistakes.”

Stiles began inspecting each rune carved onto Jordan’s bindings with great care. Jordan observed him with wonder. It was rare that anyone met the discovery of Hellhounds with an immediate expression of joy. Jordan had never known a human be so at ease amongst Supernaturals. He had never met a human that held such excitement at meeting Supernaturals, believing them to be interesting, like their powers were a gift, and finding his own humanity a dull thing in comparison.

“A human working with Supernaturals?” Jordan could not help but ask aloud.

Stiles merely glanced up at him and smiled before returning to his work, “It’s a nicer crowd the vast majority of the time.”

Jordan blinked. “You are that boy that the slaves gossip about,” he realised, “The one that runs and fights with Wolves.”

“Oh gods,” Jackson complained, “Don’t tell him that! It will go straight to his big head…”

“My reputation precedes me,” Stiles grinned, “Hey Scott!” he called at the Beta Were with the curly hair that stood not too far away, releasing Corey. “The boy that runs with Wolves! My reputation precedes me!”

Scott grinned at him. “Consider me impressed.”

“The _True Alpha_ , impressed by little old me?” Stiles feigned flattery, eyelashes batting, “Finally. After all these years of trying to impress you…”

“That’s the _True Alpha_?” Jordan heard Theo ask the short fair-haired Beta Were boy, who was opening the cuffs and collar on Hayden, looking rather besotted.

Jordan focused back on Stiles as Stiles turned back to his chains, muttering to himself as he looked at the runes. “If this one restricts and this one…” Finally Stiles snapped his fingers, “I have it!”

He began to dig in the small pouch attached to the belt around his waist. By this point, Jordan was the only Supernatural still tied up. The others were freed and collarless and standing up, their eyes glowing gold around him as they tested their long-suppressed powers.

Stiles found what he was looking for, holding up a glass vial which held a powder inside it.

“This should work,” Stiles said.

“ _Should_ work?” Jordan repeated, a little concerned.

“ _Will_ work,” Stiles corrected sheepishly. “It just needs a little bit here and here…” without further ado, Stiles tipped a little bit of powder onto a number of the runes holding the chains around Jordan together. “I’m Stiles, by the way,” Stiles introduced himself. “Stiles Stilinski.” He then held up a hand, closed his eyes and fell into some kind of deep concentration.

“Jordan Parrish,” Jordan returned, staring down at the chains, where the metal was starting to bubble away where Stiles had put the powder concoction.

“Good to meet you, Jordan Parrish,” Stiles said, eyes still closed, fingers wavering a little as he focused.

Suddenly, the powder completed its work, and the runes that were melted away broke in half, the chains immediately loosening around him.

Stiles cracked an eye open as one of the chains hit the ground with a clang. “It worked!” Stiles said brightly, beaming. “Hey guys! I did something! I did something!”

“Good job, Stiles!” Scott called encouragingly as Jackson rolled his eyes.

Jordan breathed a sigh of relief as Stiles pulled the chains away and Scott came to hand Stiles a key so that Stiles could unlock Jordan’s collar.

“You ok?” Stiles asked him.

“I…” Jordan paused, smiled, “Thank you.” He rolled his shoulders, letting a little bit of hellfire flame wave up and down his arms, just to feel that power released and rolling through him again, familiar and long-missed.

Stiles was staring at him in awe and then looked up at his eyes, which would have turned their Hellhound flame-orange.

“So I told Kira that she had the coolest Supernatural powers, but actually, I think you win it, buddy.” He clapped Jordan on the arm, and then drew his hand back fast. “Damn you are hot!”

“Don’t let Derek hear you say that,” Scott teased, knocking his knee into Stiles’ shoulder.

Stiles laughed.

“I’m sorry if I burnt you…” Jordan worried, but Stiles just leapt to his feet, reaching out a hand to help pull Jordan to his feet.

“You didn’t,” Stiles promised and when Jordan decided to take Stiles’ offered hand, Stiles hauled him up on his feet.

Lydia and Jackson stood beside them and Lydia rushed to hug Jordan once he was on his feet. Jordan was about to speak to her, when he was interrupted.

“Hunter!” The shout cut across the grass and Scott and Stiles were moving before anyone else could react.

One of the newly released Beta Weres had shouted it. He was shifted and advancing on the brunette young lady with the bow and arrows, who had the weapons up and ready in her hands in an instant, before Scott and Stiles reached them.

With a “Whoa, whoa!” Stiles neatly slid between the two, his back to the girl, whose knocked arrow pointed over Stiles’ shoulder at the Were. Stiles faced the Beta with his hands raised, placating, while Scott stood beside him, shifted also and watching the Were carefully.

“Allison?” Scott asked, “You ok?”

The girl responded with a quick nod, her eyes and the point of her arrow never leaving the shifted Beta.

“Would you mind telling me?” Stiles asked, “Why you have decided to threaten our best archer?”

“She’s a hunter!” The Beta spat defensively. “You think I can’t tell? Even from the way she walks and how she holds her weapons. I know blue blood, Hunter training, when I see it.”

“She was trained by them,” Scott admitted, “But she isn’t one. She is one of us.”

“She is _not_ one of us. She isn’t any kind of Supernatural.”

“Neither am I,” Stiles responded, eyes hard.

“You were a slave. You have scars on your back.”

Stiles was wearing thin leather armour plates, held together by straps, so patches of his skin were on show. Jordan’s eyes fell to the areas of Stiles’ back that he could see from the side lines, and saw the white criss-crossing lines, obvious evidence of whipping.

“You’re different,” The Were continued, “She was never a slave.”

“She has helped us and given up more than you could ever know,” Scott interjected, angry on Allison’s behalf.

“You have your freedom,” Allison said, “Whether you join us or make your own way is up to you. But I fight with and for the _Beacon_.”

“And what if,” the Beta snarled, “After fighting for my life in the arena for the entertainment of your kind for _years._ What if I decide to kill you?” He took a threatening step forwards.

Allison’s arrow drew back further. Jordan took a cautious step forwards. Stiles was still right in the middle of it and Scott threw an arm out to block Stiles a little further from the Beta.

“Enough! Enough!” Stiles snapped at the Beta, “Stop right there or I’ll…”

There was a flurry of movement in the mist and a moment later Stiles stopped talking when an Alpha-shifted wolf appeared at his side. It was coal-black, red eyed and had its lips curled back over glistening teeth.

“Peter, don’t,” Jordan heard Scott mutter, even as Stiles stretched and curled his fingers so that they brushed over the fur on Peter’s back in acknowledgment.

Jordan glanced around them, realising that everyone had stopped and was staring at what was happening. That was when he saw, standing at the edge of the mist, a black haired, muscular man, his eyes Alpha-red as he watched the proceedings silently.

“Please,” Scott tried to reason with the Beta again, “Stop this, now. Allison is loyal to the cause. She helped us escape the _Lupus Ludus_. Without her we would not have managed it. She has given up her life to aid our cause and is one of our best warriors. You can join us, or you can leave and enjoy your freedom on your own.”

“But if you try to kill her, we will be forced to stop you by whatever means necessary,” Stiles said, the black wolf still growling at his side. “Besides, if you want to get to her you would have to go through me and I know a couple of Weres who wouldn’t be very happy about that." The wolf beside him snarled again as if to prove a point. "Do you really want to try that?”

“Have a little faith in us,” Scott tried, “You can get revenge on as many Hunters as you want – ones who deserve your hatred – but Allison is not one of them.”

Jordan blinked, stunned, when he thought he saw Scott’s yellow Beta-eyes flicker with red.

The Beta backed up a step, possibly having seen the same thing. “It’s been a long time since I have had faith in anything. I choose to leave.”

“Then you are free to leave,” Scott said, “Just make sure you gather some provisions before you do.”

The Beta shifted back to human form and Allison moved the arrow away from the string. She stepped back and Stiles turned towards her to say something.

The Beta shifted again the moment their guards were down and several things happened at once. The black wolf called Peter jumped at the Were at the same moment that Scott barrelled into Peter to prevent him from doing so, putting himself in front of Stiles and Allison as he did so. The black haired Alpha that had been watching the scene unfold launched forwards, and Jordan, for need to do something to stop what was happening, lit himself up with hellfire. It caused enough of a distraction for the Beta to pause, which gave the black haired Alpha the time to spin Stiles even further out of the way and stand between the Beta and Scott and Allison.

“Back down,” The Alpha growled, eyes flaring.

He was a powerful Alpha. Jordan could feel it from where he stood, aflame. The Alpha had to be Derek Hale, the leader of the _Beacon_ , the ex-Gladiator champion _The Undefeated Alpha_ , and allegedly the mate of the _Boy that runs with Wolves_.

The Beta submitted almost instantly, falling back and retreating into the group of newly released Weres.

The tense silence that followed was broken when Stiles stepped forward and declared, “Well, I think that went well.”

Scott gave a wobbly laugh, one of his hands finding the back of Stiles’ neck, as the other drew Allison in close.

Jordan cancelled out his hellfire to find the Weres and Chimeras that had been in captivity with him watching him with the same awe that Stiles had.

Corey was the one to speak for them all; “That was amazing.”

Still a little stunned at the positive reactions he was receiving, he jumped when a hand circled his wrist. He looked down to see Lydia smiling up at him. He smiled back.

Lydia’s smiled dropped however, the moment that Peter shifted back to human form and sauntered towards them.

“Lydia, darling. It is, quite honestly, marvellous to see you.” He took her hand and kissed the back of it.

When he let go, she stared at him wordlessly for a moment before slapping him across the face, hard.

“Yeah,” Peter said, rubbing his face, looking a little sheepish, “Yeah I deserve that one.”

***

The Were that had mistrusted Allison decided to leave a few hours later, with a couple of others. The majority decided to stay.

“I am a little sorry he left,” Stiles told Derek, as they led the group back towards the Beacon Hills. “His reaction was understandable, really. Allison is a rare, rare case where Hunter families are concerned.”

“We still need to remain vigilant and cautious,” Derek replied, gaze ever watchful as their procession crossed the open lands. “There will be others that will react the same. And you need to remember that you are still human and won’t heal as fast as we do if you decide to put yourself between a Were and a master archer.”

“Ah,” Stiles glanced at Derek’s serious expression, “I knew you would be angry about that.”

“I am not angry,” Derek argued, breaking his attention for a moment to look at Stiles, “I just want you to think a little before you rush headfirst into reckless situations.”

Stiles frowned in jest, “But, that doesn’t sound like me at all.”

Derek’s stern face cracked when the corner of his lips twitched up at one corner, before he swung an arm around Stiles’ shoulders, and Stiles felt Derek’s smile against his temple.

Stiles smiled to himself, pressed himself into Derek’s side as they walked.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I will be more careful.”

“Uh-huh,” Derek said in his ear, “That doesn’t sound like you at all.”

Stiles grinned at him. Derek looked good like this. The months since their escape from the Ludus had brightened his eyes and hardened his muscles even further. The access to his powers after so many years without had made him stronger, faster, more in tune with his Wolf. His dark hair was longer than it had been and had a habit of spiking wildly, his heavy stubble framed his chiselled face, his eyes held the power of an Alpha. He moved with such stealth, such grace. His accelerated healing meant that he wore even less armour than he did as a Gladiator, which left a lot more torso available for Stiles’ eyes. It could get quite distracting.

Stiles was getting distracted just thinking about it.

“It is probably a good thing that you love me anyway, then.”

Derek side-eyed him, “Whoever told you that?”

Stiles gave him a light shove. “You did, Hale. You telling me that you didn’t mean it?”

“No,” Derek said, and the sight of his smile still made Stiles stupidly happy. Derek was so much happier, now, and his happiness was infectious. “I meant it.”

“Good.”

It took three days to travel back to the camp in the Beacon Hills and by the time they arrived they were tired but triumphant. They had found Lydia alive and, while under-nourished and exhausted, otherwise of sound mind and health.

They had added numbers to their movement, gaining more Beta Weres, Chimeras and a Hellhound. They had set them free.

Boyd, Erica and Isaac had been left in charge of the camp in Derek and Peter’s absence and they were waiting at the entrance to the camp to meet them.

Isaac bounded forwards to greet Scott and Allison, Melissa following. While Boyd and Erica spoke with Derek about what had occurred in his absence and of how their mission had gone, and Kira, Danny and Jackson took Lydia and the new arrivals to see Deaton and Melissa to be checked over, Stiles weaved through the crowd until he found who he was looking for.

“So,” he said, “Guess who used one of Deaton's powders to the amazement and awe of all?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Sparky,” Cora Hale turned to face him, eyebrow arched, a smirk playing on her lips. “You?”

“Good guess.” He cracked his knuckles. “Worked like an absolute charm.”

Cora rolled her eyes and pulled him into a hug.

The first place that the _Beacon_ had raided had been the house that Cora had been enslaved in. They had gotten her back. The sight of Derek and Peter wrapping Cora up in their arms and the three Hales standing together, reunited after so many years, would never leave Stiles’ memory. Derek was even brighter, lighter since finding her.

Derek had been correct the day, so many months ago, that he told Stiles that he and Cora would get along if they ever met. Cora was just like Stiles in so many ways, sassy and sarcastic, stubborn and fiery. They had made instant friends, much to Derek’s obvious joy and feigned chagrin.

“And,” Stiles said, smug, “My reputation as the ‘Boy who runs with Wolves’ preceded me.”

“You want me to be impressed? Shouldn’t you be at least a little embarrassed that you are labelled as the _boy_ rather than the _man_?”

Stiles pretended to look offended, shaking his finger at her.

“Don’t you try to take this away from me,” he told her. “A reputation is all a pale skinned, fragile boned human has.”

 Cora laughed, “My apologies, darling.”

“Ugh,” Stiles pulled a face, “Don’t ‘darling’ me. It makes you sound too much like Peter trying to be charming.”

“Speaking of whom,” Cora turned back towards the new group of Supernaturals, looping her arm through Stiles’, “Did you find the Banshee he turned?”

“Yes, we found her,” Stiles breathed yet another sigh of relief in knowing that Lydia was safe and back with them. “And a few more besides. A Hellhound, for instance. He seems a good man, helped us out of a slight confrontation. His powers are certainly impressive and,” Stiles nudged her with his elbow, “He is as hot as his Supernatural creature implies.”

“You need to introduce me,” Cora said immediately.

Stiles grinned.  “All in good time, my dear.”

“Anything else exciting happen?”

“Erm,” Stiles thought, “Lydia slapped Peter. It was great.”

Cora grinned, “That will have knocked him down a peg or two.”

“He took it remarkably well. Apologised and everything; well, as far as Peter can do apologies.”

“Huh. My uncle must have learnt some humility in our years apart.”

They fell silent for a moment, Cora gazing out into the camp, her mind suddenly elsewhere.

Stiles paused, watching Cora closely before breaking the quiet. “Has there been any more on Laura’s possible location?”

Cora shook her head and Stiles felt guilty for making her look sad when she had been so cheerful.

“Nothing new,” Cora said.

The information that Allison had found out about Laura from the documents in Chris’ safe - that she had been sent away to the mines from the villa that she and Cora had been slaves in - had been confirmed once they had found Cora at said villa and she had told them the same story. Once Laura had been sent away from the villa, however, the trail had gone cold. There had been several rumours as to Laura’s potential whereabouts, gathered from mines and camps that they had overpowered and freed; Laura had been sent to the mines, Laura had died, Laura had headed a rebellion and had a rebel group of her own somewhere in the south, Laura had been picked up from the mines and made a Gladiator. There were so many rumours with no concrete evidence as yet as to where she actually was. The woman had become a legend amongst slaves in the south, the Were that no-one could track down, and while the rumours of her were, for the most part, impressive, Stiles hoped that rumour would one day become reality and that they would find her alive. He hoped he would meet her one day. He hoped Derek, Cora and Peter would see her again one day.

Stiles squeezed her arm. “We will find her.”

Cora sent him a wavering smile. “I hope so.”

Stiles smiled back, before pulling her along with him across the camp.

“Come on,” he said, “I want to see Melissa and Deaton. And I will introduce you to Parrish while we are there.”

 

*

 

Less than an hour later Stiles escaped the medical tents, leaving Melissa and Deaton, Lydia and Jackson, and Cora with Parrish as he headed in the direction of Derek’s tent.

“Stilinski!”

He whirled around at the sound of Erica’s voice and grinned when he spotted her, Scott, Allison, Boyd, Isaac and Kira sitting in a circle around a small fire.

Stiles grinned at them all before answering Erica. “My lady,” Stiles gave a small bow.

Erica pointed to the space of grass between her and Scott. “Sit.”

“Whatever my lady commands,” Stiles sat down.

Erica pulled him over to plant a kiss on his cheek.

“How is Lydia?” Boyd asked.

“It may take a little time for her to regain her weight and her strength,” Stiles said. “But she is doing well,” he laughed with relief. “She is doing really well. I left her with Melissa and Jackson.”

Scott reached out and squeezed Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles reached up to briefly cover Scott's hand with his own.

“Hungry, Stiles?” Kira asked, reaching over Isaac to offer a plate with cooked meat and vegetables to Stiles.

“Always,” Stiles accepted the plate eagerly.

They sat in comfortable silence, picking at their plates and keeping conversation light. Stiles felt at home amongst his friends, with Scott and Allison sitting beside him in each other’s arms, Erica and Boyd with their fingers intertwined and Isaac and Kira joking with each other.

Since fighting together for their freedom, their unconventional pack had only grown closer and stronger. When they fought their enemies, they fought as a unit, reading each other, watching each other’s backs. It must be quite a sight, Stiles thought, seeing a group of glowing eyes descend on a Ludus or a mine or a camp, freed Supernatural and human slaves fighting side by side, defending each other, working as one. 

“Hey Stiles,” Isaac said, “We can fill Derek a plate too if you want to take it to him?”

“Sure, thanks,” Stiles smiled, watching Isaac start to do just that. He was about to comment about how times had changed, having Isaac serve him dinners instead of the other way around, as Stiles had often had to do in the Ludus dining hall. But that made him think of Matt, who had served dinners to the Gladiators every single day and had died in the rebellion at the Ludus. The sudden memory of Matt hurt him and he decided that he did not want to remind the ex-Gladiators, Kira and Allison of the Ludus and the people they had lost. Not tonight. Not when they looked so happy.

Isaac was smiling his puppy-dog smile as he handed Stiles the plate, and Stiles took it with a nod of thanks.

“Right, I had best get food to the Sour Wolf, lest he turn sourer still.”

“I am still surprised he lets you get away with calling him that,” Erica said, raising her eyebrow.

“He only does because I tend not to say it to his face,” Stiles lied, “So don’t you get me in trouble.”

“But Stiles,” she grinned, “Where would the fun be in that?”

“Traitor,” Stiles accused, getting to his feet. He looked down at Scott and Allison, who were smiling up at him. “See you later, lovebirds.”

"See you later, brother," Scott returned, looking ridiculously happy, as he often did nowadays, which was something that nearly a year ago when Scott had been turned and made a Gladiator, seemed like something that would never happen again. Stiles was eternally grateful to see Scott and Allison so happy again. He did not voice those feelings, however, choosing to affectionately nudge Scott with his foot instead before he left to find Derek.

He was halfway to Derek’s tent when a figure suddenly emerged from the shadows to his left.

“Gods,” Stiles gasped, swerving out of the way. “Are you trying to scare me to death?”

He turned around and saw Malia, the Werecoyote that they had freed not so long ago, watching him, silent and wary. The first time he had met Malia, she had tried to attack him. Luckily Isaac and Kira had not been standing too far away and had managed to intercept. He understood why she acted as she did; she had been forced to fight in illegal fighting pits for months and had gone almost feral with it. She clearly needed to build trust again in others. She seemed to have a penchant for dealing with things with violence and for some reason - so he had been told several times before by Jackson, who had absolutely no authority of opinion on the matter - Stiles made for an appealing target.

“Ok, maybe you might be,” Stiles said. He noticed Malia staring at the plate in his hand. He held it out. “Do you want some?”

She watched him for a moment longer before she snatched the whole plate out of his hands and disappeared back into the camp.

“Alright then,” Stiles nodded, “Good talk. Glad we have made progress.”

He turned to walk again, before leaping backwards for a second time. “What the…”

“Making friends, Stiles?” Peter asked from where he was also standing in the shadows, watching him with amusement.

“I am very good at making friends,” Stiles argued, “So no need to sound so sarcastic. In fact, if there is anybody who is lacking in friends-making skills, it would be you.”

“You flatter me,” Peter’s teeth glinted as he smiled.

“How do you manage to find all my insults complimentary?”

“Because you don’t mean them,” Peter answered airily.

Stiles thought about that. He realised that that had come to be, for the most part, true.

“Thanks,” Stiles found himself saying, “For the other day at the camp with the Beta.”

Peter had appeared in wolf form at Stiles’ side when the Beta had acted threateningly. Peter’s support had made Stiles feel grateful, but also powerful, in having Peter for an ally, for being the coal black wolf that stood at Stiles’ side.

“Of course,” Peter shrugged as though his defence of Stiles were perfectly normal, “I am not about to lose the best intellectual conversationalist I have to some foolish Beta. Besides,” Peter added as he walked past Stiles and away into the night. “You are family now, and we protect our own.”

Stiles found himself swallowing the sudden lump in his throat at Peter’s words, but by the time he had turned around, Peter had gone.

***

Derek looked down at the map spread out in front of him on the table and placed a small carved wolf onto the location of the mines camp. Another camp down, another group of Supernaturals saved from a lifetime of slavery. And they had found Lydia.

It lifted a significant weight from his shoulders, leaving only the absence of Laura remaining. There were so many rumours, rumours that made him optimistic, rumours that made him fear the worst. The most painful part was the not knowing. He needed to find her. They had found Cora, they had found Lydia. They would find Laura, too, he was determined of it, and until then, in their journey to that moment, they would continue to raid every Ludus, mine and slave camp that they could, freeing every slave that wanted to be freed, until that day. It was all he could do.

He heard Stiles approach their tent before he even entered it. He knew Stiles by sound and smell now; he knew Stiles’ heartbeat, his footsteps, the smell of him, the sense of home.

“Hey,” Stiles said, ducking through the flap of the tent.

“Hey,” Derek turned away from his maps and his wondering about where to strike next, where Laura could possibly be. “Where is Cora?"

“I left her talking to Parrish,” Stiles said, rolling his shoulders and shedding his sandals. It had been a long journey back to the camp and it was always more tiring on the humans than the Supernaturals. “He was sitting right next to Hayden, and Liam’s mooning over her was becoming a little nauseating, so I left.”

Derek arched an eyebrow. Stiles carried on talking as he carried on undressing, seemingly oblivious, or possibly completely aware, to Derek watching him as he did so.

“I was going to bring you dinner, but I bumped into Malia,” Stiles said, shrugging out of the belts and pieces of leather armour. “She didn’t try to attack me this time, so that was a nice surprise. I think she might be warming to me. She did take your dinner though, so, sorry about that. Werecoyotes sure are interesting folk, that’s for sure. Speaking of interesting, have you spoken much to Parrish, yet? Cora seems intrigued, so she will be able to tell you all, I am sure. Also, one of the new Chimeras – the chameleon one – seemed to be getting on quite well with Mason in the medical tent. I swear the _Beacon_ is becoming as much of a matchmaking retreat as it is a rebel encampment; Scott and Allison, Jackson and Lydia, Boyd and Erica, you and me, obviously. I think Ethan and Danny have something going on. Do you think they have something going on? I do. Oh, and did you know Peter has been flirting with Melissa? I know! It’s adorable and disturbing in equal measure.” Now free of belts and armour, he picked out a fresh shirt from the wooden chest in the corner that was clearly way too large for him, and clearly Derek’s, but Stiles liked wearing Derek’s things, and Derek liked Stiles wearing his things. “I wonder if Isaac and Kira are…”

Derek effectively managed to shut him up by crossing the tent in a matter of strides, stealing the shirt from Stiles’ hands.

“Hey!” Stiles protested with a knowing smirk, looking at him with eyes full of mischief.

He was wilder, this Stiles, in his freedom. His smiles were even more constant, but were laced with something knowing, cunning, and experienced. He would laugh louder, enjoy confrontation all the more. His killing of Lord Ithan had tormented his nights for a little while, but they did not last and Derek believed the only reason he felt any guilt over it in the first place was because he was worried what Scott might think. Scott still had managed not to kill another living soul, throughout their entire rebellion and rebel action. There had been a couple of times, during several fights, when Derek could have sworn he had seen Scott’s eyes flicker Beta yellow to Alpha red and whilst it was blink-and-you-will-miss-it quick, Derek would not be at all surprised if Scott one day transformed fully into his Gladiator namesake; a True Alpha.

While Scott had not killed, Stiles had. The Gladiators had been training the human slaves how to fight for months and Stiles had a distinct, scrappy fighting style and where the Werewolves would growl or snap or roar during battle, Stiles would hiss or snarl between his teeth when vexed, to the point that Derek would tease him, asking him if he were sure he wasn’t some kind of Were-fox rather than human. Stiles would laugh, ask if such things even existed outside of the Kitsune and tell Derek he would be the best Were-fox ever. Of course, Stiles had no wish to be turned by any Were, but if, gods forbid, Stiles were attacked and bitten, or was injured so badly that turning were the only option - something that Stiles had given permission for – then it was clear that Stiles did not think it would be the end of the world for him. The majority of the people he loved were Supernatural. He was intrigued by Supernaturals, admired their speed and their strength and their healing.

Stiles had no wish to be turned – despite several offers, including Peter, which had led to some strong words from Derek – and seemed perfectly content remaining human and learning more of his spark for magic, learning under Deaton and the other druids that had decided to join the rebel group. He had talent for it and sometimes when he performed mild druid magic, his amber eyes would light slightly, glow slightly, almost like a Weres would. It made Derek think of the dreams he had had of Stiles with the yellow and blue eyes of a Beta, and yet this was something different. The light in Stiles’ eyes while performing magic was mesmerising. It was the sign of a gifted human and Deaton seemed to see it, to know it. Stiles was powerful, he was intelligent, he was confident, and he was only just starting out with his tuition. He would be a force to be reckoned with, even more than he already was.

Derek took Stiles into his arms, absently tracing his thumb over the Triskele tattoo on Stiles’ lower back. All the former slaves had their own ways of dealing with the brands of former owners; some decided to keep them, to remind them what they had endured to get to where they were, and many covered them somehow, often by tattoo. Derek, Peter, Cora and Stiles had all covered their slave brands with the Triskele of the Hale family. Scott had covered the Argent family brand on his arm with two thick black bands. Jackson had had his edited into a Kanima, while Kira had hers covered by a symbol of the Thunder Kitsune. Aidan and Ethan, the only two of the _Alpha Pack_ that had decided to stay with the rebels in the Beacon Hills, had decided to keep the edited Triskele brands of their _Alpha Ludus_ and displayed them with the pride of Alpha Gladiators.

Stiles smiled at him, his skin a little more tanned from being outdoors for several months, his moles and freckles standing out even more on his skin, the hair on his head shaved at the sides and long on top, a Druid symbol shaved into one of the shorn sides of his head. He looked so very alive. Derek dragged his hands up the skin of Stiles’ back, over the faint bumps and scars of the whipping, that stood out whiter now against the golden tan, and Stiles shivered in his arms.

“Ok?” Derek murmured into Stiles’ hair, pulling back to smile at him, eyes searching Stiles’ face.

Stiles dragged his blunted nails down the naked spaces of Derek’s chest, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Derek bit his lip, watching Stiles hungrily. He was not sure quite how it was possible that he wanted Stiles more and more with each passing day, but he did know that that feeling of love would never leave him. They were mates for life, with the whole world ahead, to live it in freedom.

“More than ok,” Stiles promised.

Derek wasted no time in wrapping an arm around Stiles’ waist and pulling him in, as Stiles’ hand gripped Derek’s hair and tugged his head down, meeting him halfway.

***

The kiss was open mouthed and hot and slick, hands exploring familiar territory, fingers grasping, quiet groans, hips pushed together. Stiles was addicted to it, needed more of it. He would never tire of the sound, taste, feel, sight of Derek Hale like this; hazel-green eyes darkened and focused, his dark hair soft in Stiles’ fingers, his hard body pushed against Stiles’ own.

When Derek began to work his thigh between Stiles’, Stiles managed to pull away and breathed, “Derek, do you think we have time to…”

“No!” A voice shouted from outside the tent and it startled Stiles so much that he tripped over Derek’s foot and fell on the floor. “You don’t have time!”

“By the gods…” Stiles threw his arm dramatically over his face from his spot on the floor. “Cora!”

Derek looked down at him and the bastard had the audacity to smirk at him, clearly finding Stiles’ ungainly tumble hilarious. Unfair, really, with it being Stiles’ third fright of the night, no less. Bloody Werecoyotes and Hales.

“I didn’t mean to listen in,” Cora protested, still outside the canvas, “But then I didn’t think you two would be getting it on so soon after getting back.”

“Well,” Stiles threw Derek a wink, “You surely can’t blame me.”

“Erm,” Cora’s voice said, “That’s my brother, Stiles. I am not about to answer that.”

Derek huffed fondly, rolling his eyes. “Cora, can you just come in?”

“That depends entirely on whether the pair of you are decent.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow at Derek and sprawled himself out in his shirtless state. Derek narrowed his eyes, gaze wandering Stiles’ body even as Derek kicked at Stiles half-heartedly and Stiles smirked back in triumph.

“Yes,” Derek replied, “Decent enough.”

Stiles stuck out his tongue and lifted up his arm so that Derek could pull him to his feet. Derek steadied him with a hand on Stiles’ bare waist, watching him in a way that made him feel a little breathless again, a moment before Cora entered the tent.

“Sorry for disturbing you,” Cora apologised, looking like she didn’t actually care in the slightest. “Derek, you are needed for your Alpha and _Beacon_ leader duties. You need to do your official speech for the new rebels.”

Stiles slipped out of Derek’s grip to locate and tug on the shirt he had intended to wear while Derek straightened himself up. Derek slung his arm around Cora’s shoulders and pressed a kiss to her hair.

“Come on then,” Derek said, steering Cora around and holding his hand out for Stiles to take. “Let’s go.”

Stiles took it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I can't quite believe I am saying this, but that is the end of 'Ludus Lupus'! It was mentioned to me that it had been a year since Chapter 1 when I posted the last chapter. I cannot believe this has taken me over a year to complete. I am so sorry for the long waits guys. Thank you so so much for your comments and your kudos and your patience. You are the best. I will be replying to comments as soon as I am able.
> 
> I hope very much that you enjoyed the epilogue, and the whole story. I will be honest in saying that I had had every intention of killing Laura off as per canon in this story, but you guys asking after her and hoping her to be ok made me change my mind, so, I guess Laura has y'all to thank for that ;) Derek's heart certainly does!
> 
> I also can't believe Teen Wolf has ended. To be honest, I did not watch past Season 4, keeping up through recaps, mainly. I loved the Sterek moments in the first and last episodes of the last season though and have seen all the clips of the returned old faces. It was nice. It made me nostalgic for Seasons 1 and 2. 
> 
> Thanks for coming on this journey with me. Sorry it took so long to get to the end, but I hope it was worth it!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for the wonderful comments and kudos that you guys have left so far, and for bookmarking the story! I am overjoyed with the positive feedback that I have received thus far, thank you all! I always reply to comments, but it may take me a little while to respond.
> 
> Comments, Kudos and Bookmarks are cherished and appreciated, always.


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